KB's Basic Blog

* Trying my hand at prose poems* Consider me, at twelve years old: all elbows and knees and good intentions, knocking about in dirt and on swing-sets with one eye on the boys who will start to call me ugly in a few years.   Circled precisely around my neck on a silver chain hangs a heart whose hollow center holds love from people I’ve never met; great-grandparents long gone encapsulated in tiny oil paintings and left in the trust of a young girl.   These beautiful responsibilities are still too much for me and filigree love lays lost in sandcastles beyond adolescent fingertips.

I am full. A multi-color carousel of wonder. Octopus arm blessings are more than my heart can hold. I am empty. A midnight circus of bone grips me And I drown alone in a ball pit of lies and shadow. I am out of medication.

A grey form lost in fog lays on a grey beach reflected against a grey ocean. Red spill from its body As I cut out its tongue Bruised flesh ravaged by scientist scavengers. For you, unnamed humpback, I mourn.