Murder One, Fall 2015

Juliet Cook

Baby shoes.

Crow Hollow 19

Crow Hollow Books

About the poem: This poem was initially inspired by thoughts/feelings about how after my divorce, I've never really been able to believe in love again or trust relationships anymore, even though quite a few people seem to be able to rather quickly swing out of one relationship and enter into another, even if the relationship was marriage and the next relationship involves getting married again, to someone else.  Post-divorce, my relationships have been filled with ongoing questions and mixed feelings. I can't heal my own wounds quickly. My mind doesn't quite understand how some people seem to be able to quickly forget something that was supposedly significant and then rather quickly latch on to something else instead, like they're replacing their teeth with new teeth. At least I haven't lost my own teeth. 

In addition to writing, I also create painting/collage art hybrids, so my workspace photo includes a close up of two vintage baby shoes abstractly painted/collaged.

Bookmarks Stuck Inside Cracked Columns

Nobody can enjoy me in these fits
and starts. Stars filled with teeth
broken from the molars.  Blood in between.

How do polar opposites connect 
the ripped out dots so high up, then
drip down into nowhere land?

A dropping point, a dripping point
a leech unraveling from a ripped open
hole like a sticky red gummy rat.

One day my prince will come,
then he'll turn into a real rat,
then he'll grow into a giant rat trap,
big enough for my entire spine.
One day my curvature will snap
shut another page in my history book of tiny onslaughts.