Poetry by Chantal Gibson - Room Magazine
Poetry by Chantal Gibson - Room Magazine
Poetry by Chantal Gibson - Room Magazine
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ii. Summer: Mating Season<br />
the female plays house between<br />
the bark & the sapwood she is<br />
hardwired for love in the phloem<br />
her scent on the walls she rubs<br />
her Avon wrists together & waits<br />
the male finds her intoxicated they<br />
make love under the trees legs become<br />
arms hands grow fingers nails<br />
scratch tiny love notes in the bark<br />
summer is short here little time<br />
for courtship in the North: the coldblooded<br />
retreat to the woods veins<br />
pumped with anti-freeze the female<br />
bores deeper into the sapwood she<br />
drags her smokes & her big belly up<br />
the tree carves her birthing chamber<br />
and her coffin with her teeth<br />
iii. Homo sapiens<br />
There’s a red stain on your floral dress<br />
trying hard to look like a rose. Usually,<br />
you don’t bleed this much.<br />
It just takes a minute, to stop:<br />
a dab of Vaseline, a greasy piece<br />
of rolled-up toilet paper shoved up<br />
your nose, the tissue bent<br />
and twisted a few times<br />
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