kenya jane,

julykings:

LEANING OVER THE SINK, EATING
               a mango until my forearms
are stuck & i am left with the stone
heart of a fruit. then go about my day
the way i would were i satisfied.
write laundry & cross it out,
finish the movie i started,
taking care to sweep & empty,
tuck the sheet under the mattress.
     in none of this will i say 
i am sour.
there is no tact in admitting to
rottenness. even if all week you’ve
been pulling it like string from your
esophagus & spooling it down the drain.
aches like that are ungainly. i speak on
the phone with mom about the ‘real
gully washer’, i look up the word rill. 
i shouldn’t think of cold shower
cleaning. & under my shirt, i lie:
i am not red or desperate. 
    fold dish rags, walk the dog, shake
out the bath mat & leave it dry outside.
all this with mango juice dripping 
to my elbows.