{another in the series of feminist pantoum which I believe to be plural all alone}

Eve & me, the unsaid part

was born in the mouth, dizzy with want,
nobody’s bait. the body’s a burglarized mirror,
the hot source, this kiln at the ready,
all this and a shoebox, leave the lid on.

nobody is bait. the body’s burglarized mirror
claims checkmate but nobody wins
all this and a shoebox, leave the lid on
so the trash collector suspects nothing.

claim checkmate. but nobody wins
when the jaw is an axe, sharp tooth.
so the trash collector suspects nothing
mutter apple, apple, apple, apple.

when the jaw is an axe, sharp tooth,
first the face, then a rib, now a hip
muttering apple, apple, apple, apple,
a chorus of bone against itself,

first the face, then a rib, now a hip
this kiln has no fire, is no mouth reciting
a chorus of bone against itself.
how do such things mend.

this kiln has no fire. is no mouth reciting
what’s the consolation prize for quiet?
how do such things mend?
might as well shovel ash onto stone.

what’s the consolation prize for quiet
girls in long kilts fingering the pin? she
might as well shovel ash onto stone
as say anything. to be or to furnish

girls in long kilts fingering the pin she
disappears, a plastic knife into milk,
say anything. to be or to furnish
such an excuse one must vanish a little,

disappear, a plastic knife into milk,
a blade good for nothing. a tongue.
such an excuse one must vanish a little
like hands unfisting in pockets, a surrender.

a blade good for nothing, a tongue
was born in the mouth, dizzy with want
like hands unfisting in pockets, surrendering
the hot source, this kiln at the ready.

*