After Touring the Body Room / Molly curtis
dancing girl press, 2014
Molly Curtis is the author of two poetry chapbooks and her poems have appeared in numerous journals. She currently resides in Portland, Oregon. She holds an MFA in Creative Writing from The University of Montana.
When in your city I hated the dirty snow.
The snow was always so dirty in your city.
The first word to shake
my brother’s larynx awake was chainsaw
when he saw my father turn tree to log to tinder.
I burned my stuffed rabbit,
its fur, on the stove
and cried for days.
You turned to snow smudged with ash,
piles of you blocking doorways, freezing my feet.
Photographs of women above our bed
long dead the year we had an air mattress
after the jail-sized cot had replaced
the futon whose frame we burned
for warmth the coldest winter.
I nearly sent you a postcard
from Butte of the Berkley Pit—
this disaster which still slaughters
rare breeds of swan.
But I don’t want to send you
the untimely death of snow-colored birds.
I could have drenched them in it—
that toxic mineral slick
but instead, have given myself a child’s voice
to ask you why
the water they landed in was red.