Friday, December 30, 2011

Poetry Friday

From “Sonic”:
… We kept breeding. They kept coming. More and more mice, more droppings, and then—cutting through the silken silence of the laboratory morning, clear as the glass window through which I saw my lover for the last time before he left me, as he left me, old as the oldest ova in my grandmother’s ovary, timid as a naked face, timid as a slipping-away tail, a hole, one tiny left turd—one sang.
-Beth Brezenoff
The whole thing is here.