Take my Picture
By Jody Wenzel

Remember the creased edges of
my bleached tennis skirt and
fat round charcoal beads,
abbreviated bob with a curl,
such a pretty girl,
Should I throw my hands in
the air, smile as blood
clots, dripping down
back of my neck,
I am the woman they want,
Take my picture
in front of bright windows as
a reminder of my perfect extinction,
you sent both of them
away, who will divorce me when crimson feet
tiptoes down my spine,
Take my picture
so no one will remember how prickly
I felt on that book
cover when I glued
a picture of death over my living
self, so they couldn't see rusty
droplets clinging to
pleats of my skirt.
Should I inhale again or just stop

By Jody Wenzel

I have talked with paper
and bound our conversations
into little books
hidden in a pure drawer
inside this crafted vault.
Left with detached rules
ingnored by delicate whimsy
I flushed notions of death
and abandoned them
standing as reside
in frigid shade
without a pen.

I am graduate student at SUNY Potsdam pursuing a degree in Rhetoric. I live in Northern New York with my husband and two cats.


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