Eloquence would say:

“Once upon a time there was a girl with a tube
of tomato paste in her stomach and one day she wore
really tight jeans and it squeezed fruit jelly
out her American pie. She gave birth to secret sweetness.”

Eleven, behind the grey couch,
my eyes afraid of my mother’s back,
I couldn’t figure anything out, except
stiffly answering to “You’ve been sleeping all day?”
with “I got my period.”
Nothing more exquisite then brown blood in time, blue jeans
and a bottomless pain; shredding, sharp,
perpetual to the blondness of the English teacher’s
bullshit: Capulet, Romeo, Juliet, etc.
If I stand will they
see? Smell?

It must be the same with mangoes,
robins: their bodies,red tinted, blush at us:
onlookers lusting their ripeness.

Chrislande Dorcilus