LisaAnn Lobasso




  In sugarloaf, in the center of 102

  acres, her twenty-three inch body

  watched trees grow, saw streams

  flow below the earth, heard wet

  sugar dripping from branches where

  whispering birds shot from waterfall

             to pine. 


  A poem, always has rape in it.


  Molestation crawling from the walls

  Anger scrawled in a dark place, in a poem. 


  When she turned, I didn't answer her gurgle.

  Her white skin, pasting her body together,

            tightenedas she smiled.

  And I smiled. What is this?

  Everyone needs peace. 


  Yes,. from the fear in a hollow place, in a poem.

  Her syrupy body glimmers in the daylight.

  Her eyes glaze over as the fog creeps around

            her cheekswhining red.

  She licks my nose, nodding her football head

             when I laugh.

  Her small hands clasp my hair, ripping it.

  I stare at her lightbulb body.

  How could anyone not love her body?

  How could any man love her body?

  She is my baby, my daughter dripping

  sweet from her mouth like sap from leaves.

  Her eyes are blue-grey like the pewter sky. 


  I don't doubt for a minute that she loves her life.

  Her grandfather blasts Gatorade cans off fallen

             logs whereI spot deer tracks.

  Her grandmother wipes her diamond chin

  as white slop flows like a river.

  Why can't life be like the forest, she crinkles

  her question, her forehead growing old

             like her mother.

  I flatten my face in the icy creek

  that dries up in seconds. The trees fall.

  Birds boomerang into oak trunks and crash

             to the sadearth. 


  I am still mesmerized by her body,

  its picturesque innocence dripping

  sweet square sugarloaf, I almost cannot

  hear the roar of the monster

             eating themountain

  filled with rape, incest

  molestation in the dark silent squirrel holes.


  (originally posted February 3, 2008)


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