Kindra M. Austin's Blog

All the
Beginnings
of
Everything






I want to be the light at the very beginning,
when shadows steal away,
but still
remain in waiting.

I want to be the
dawn
of
man,
beneath the sun,
and
in the sand.

I want to be the
first taste of
blood,
first fire,
first ice-age,
and the
first
flood.

I want to be
Mother
of lunar eclipse,
of black holes
and comets.

End
of words
freed
from your lips.

Last kiss.

Final breath.

I want to be the dark at the very beginning,
when lights fade away,
but still
remain in waiting.

I want to be

All the
beginnings
of
everything.

Shut up, he says,
you talk
too
much

about your feelings.

And go
put on this mystery
‘fore someone
sees your

human

showing.

_______

You
are
a bubblegum factory,
the way he chews your tongue.

When’s he gonna taste that strawberry-banana split?



© 2019 Kindra M. Austin

For a minute or more, I was dead as you,
as you were technically dead
before the end was absolute—
before your brain conceded.
For a minute or more, my world was edged in blossoming dark,
engrossing, on the cusp of consent.
Blackbirds congregated, chattered ‘round my head, and
they called dibs on my vital organs—
heart, liver, kidneys, and lungs.
One expressed explicit interest in
my spleen—
keen student of human anatomy,
morbid corvid.
Then a cardinal came with your breath on its wings,
and I breathed.
I just breathed.
I breathe still…

I am not the life air you breathe.

I am that which asphyxiates.

I can’t save you, only claim you.

I can’t love you, only keep you

down;

press you into blue.

You penetrated me briefly

that last morning,

flaccid heart barely beating,

and the will to achieve absent;

afterward, I ate scrambled eggs

Their need is visceral, oh! pretty blonde girl–fresh trailer park trash. Junk yard dogs snarl and quarrel over your flesh–tongues wag to get at your bones. You’re twelve years old, and your marrow is aromatic. You sweat July, unpacking moving boxes. Mother is already drunk.

Welcome to Contaminated Manor–find your place in the court, somehow…

without letting them taste you.