Four Poems
by
Genelle Chaconas

Before Authorities

My body like the melee crime scene the door of a slum city home left torn off it’s the hinges  carpet the human splatter you wonder what strength it took what power rippled through how sudden was the blow the force of trauma not human but lower the deep the urge of nature there’s  nothing but everything else to notice the treads of the tires torn through the front lawn in reverse that speeds down the road until the tracks end until there’s nothing else. 

Check Out

There are only enemies of the heart people you welcome into the luxury hotel room of your mind free complimentary open bar included say you’re welcome did you ever wonder why there are only enemies of the heart the tender holder of passionate betrayal who leave the room walls covered with human paint curses printed on the walls the bathtub shattered drains shat in carpet ripped out mirrors bottles windows broken a rising scent that says I’m checking out early. 

Grateful

I have to thank you for my walk for that hard perpetual lunge across the concrete the solid rhythmic flap of my hightop sole against the pavement the signal of my presence I have to thank you for my covert stride the sly water walk it leaves no ripples on the surface of the dark for my combat march the rugged insomnia books across the length of the city for my limp yes I thank you for the limp for the jerry-rigged do it yourself joints the pops cracks shivers and pains a soundtrack to my movement only I can hear the arsenals of consequence I carry with me always loaded always off the safety.

The Bite

My teeth have been crushed on this stony carcass have caught the shards ground duller on the sweet atrophied joints the stiff gristle and endless ropes of sinew have toughened my jaw my appetite tonging for the dark dense marrow the cracks fissures and breaks that leak my teeth have broken fall out one by one fall of their own season of accord or are torn ragged crack on their roots or tear from their sockets my teeth always grow back again.

The Bracelet

The bracelet you gave me seven years ago it has lost most of its original metal studs only a few are left clinging to the faded leather growing weak creased and tired the stitches lose the clasps broken its only I can’t stop wearing it can’t stop loving how the musk sinews cling to mine how it turns the uneven light in crippled sprays around me the bracelet fissure break rippled with an elegant shiver pain is not yours anymore so don’t ask you can’t take back something you gave.