A Man in the Attic
shoplift, the mouse in your brother’s bed. So you lied
about Jesus. One day left, then college, beer, boys,
a bus to board. You said you knew him, and she thought:[B2]
like a hand on your neck, beads which have slipped
through your fingers, prayers. But you knew
him in the night like a moth
flicking its wings against the porchlight.
[B3] When you were born, she scrubbed
until her knuckles flaked to put bread
on your tongue. In church, she rubbed
her empty hands and felt the warmth of God.
When you lied, she believed, because she had forgotten
When you lied, she believed, because she had forgotten
the marketplace of her body, her fruits
in their baskets spilling, her skin tangy
how to know the man in the attic, the way
[B1]What about “your mother believed you because you never lied” in place of what’s already there? I’m not sure if it works better but “lie” and “lied” seem so close and which makes them seem somewhat redundant.
[B6]Yes!
Ha-ha! I think I found a way to use that cool trick you showed me on these blog posts too. (:
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