Here’s Where I Admit

Sarah Goodwin
Key West

My soul is a marble
Intricate and cracked
I keep it away from holes and chasms
I hide it in my pocket
Don’t trade it
Don’t drop it

O my soul is a saxaphone
Climb down the stem
To where its lips
Part like a rose

It smokes hashish in a corner
Mourning dead French poets
And lost French lovers

My soul has been used
For everything:
Doll stuffing, compost and hamster bedding
No wonder I can’t keep it white

My soul is a raptor
With soft feathers
Over hollow bone
Hot blood, fierce heart
And no promises to land

My soul is a sloth
Or glass of wine
With a dash of pepper
No, my soul is a marble
Put it in your mouth
Feel its fissures on your tongue

Posted in Collections, Poetry Tagged with: , , ,

Leave a Reply

Your email address will not be published. Required fields are marked *

*