Jennifer Lothrigel: As If They Were My Own Mouth

Guardian

When the afternoon light

is invited in,

the adobe walls rejoice,

the grout glistens, even the unlit

blue tiles

beyond the sun’s reach

feel alright.

I am there

taming the curtains,

showing you how to leaven

the dough for tomorrow’s

rise.

I place the daffodils face down

in a vase, their ribboned

petals smooshed

against the bottom

of the glass.

I keep

watch of the door

like a fatherless child.

I make your lunch,

the door mat aches,

the daffodils are

drowning. 

You’ll never know

how destitute

gets in. 

 The Chorus of Indestructible Emptiness

I am drunk on milky

void and

red kazoo

from slobbery lips,

moist jungle bird

courtship dances,

the soprano section’s lifted

rib cages,

as if they were

my own mouth

whirling its dervish

ego

I want to tell you

about the parts of me

that are alien.

Do you have a tin can and a string?

---

Jennifer Lothrigel is a poet and artist in the San Francisco Bay area. Her chapbook 'Pneuma' was published last year through Liquid Light Press. Her work has also been published in Arcturus, Deracine, Rag Queen Periodical, Peeking Cat Poetry, We'Moon and elsewhere.