Incision and Expression

After they got through to the blood
and into the grainy organization,
they tugged, tugged, tugged on
what expressed itself in a truncated
lexicon; in thoughts and microns,
so they could venture closer to the
button you swallowed, and the bumps
and bruises you may have sustained
while almost drowning; and then they
threshed and ploughed indignantly into
the stem of corporeal silence, and found
the original husks there, wrested open
as fingers and thumb would be, when
deprived of snap and rhythm.

It took forty-seven years for my sister
to die, or perhaps it took only seven.
The rest of the time, she stewed and
germinated, in silt and chlorine, in
the ditches and storm drains where
she popped wheelies and hung ten;
in the silicon canyons and coked glass
alleys, where she waited to be drained
of all the suspicions and compromises
that taunted her, like a slow fizz of an
engine on an outmoded transportation,
on its way to obsolescence.


About the Author: Jane Rosenberg LaForge is the author of a full-length poetry collection, "With Apologies to Mick Jagger, Other Gods, and All Women,'' from The Aldrich Press. Her chapbook, "The Navigation of Loss,'' was one of the three winners of the Red Ochre Press 2012 chapbook competition, and is forthcoming. More poetry is scheduled to appear in The Eunoia Review and Liebamour; her web site is Jane-Rosenberg-LaForge.com.