The stone didn't seem
All that unique.
Just another in a sea
Of carefully arranged
Blocks of rocks.
A bit of moss grows
On the south side
And the base has
A few chipped spots
Created by the caretaker's
Riding lawn mower.
Unremarkable in this
Silent setting where
Supposed equality in fate
Is belied in the last take
Of 'one-up-manship'
In grandness of memorial.
Unremarkable other than
For the misspelling of
My name.
A long white scar worms across her belly
as she dances on the pole, beneath the lights.
The costume jewelry on her fingers
and the gem in her navel shine,
though a C-section left an empty room
and SIDS a cold blue body in the crib;
she remains, imagining the applause,
after sugar daddies unwrapped
and discarded her. They always said
it would be sweet, but she tasted love
and found it wanting -- convulsive, bitter.
It went down like this paint stripper.
Now, whenever they close their eyes,
she reappears, clothed in flesh; undressing.
A carotid artery
pulses
just below
the threshold
of movement.
A tongue trembles
and skitters
across skin.
Dawn comes grey
as a dead girl’s eyes.