Ascending

JOAN FULLERTON | Ascending, 2008

12 x 9 inches | Mixed media on board

EMILY ROSE COLE

Upon His Skipping Dinner Three Nights in a Row

Let us not diminish. This vacancy hewn in your stomach is no prickle, no kitteny growl. Say: canyon, fault line, absence of the left lung. Call it basic, a tongue peppered in lye, the blood I sucked from my last baby tooth, six blanched almonds eaten in thirds. At sixteen, I refused to call my body by its name. Instead: pinned moth, turncoat, heel of the spoiled loaf.

Darling, you don’t fool me. I recognize the dolomite spiring between your lips. Listen. I’ve lived ten years with the head of a hammer stuck under my sternum. Take it, and hold steady. Open your mouth.