katherine maccue

Katherine MacCue is a four-time Pushcart Prize-nominated poet who has been published in journals such as decomP and Word Riot. She lives in New York CIty where she is getting her MFA at Hunter College. She enjoys wandering the streets of NYC, getting lost, and meeting new people. She loves her clit and is happy to celebrate all of its mighty powers. 

 
 

i flatten myself at high noon

and place a hand, fingers on, shard and holy ghost

(dreaming him) hovering, I mount using mangled

mistress. I smell like onion, my pussy is so flush,

 

a bog, blinking the ink of a phone number near

my cherried-stem desk paper, now bleeding

through. i am a clock, just a digital clock,

 

blinking NO YES. i ramp up and recharge, though

I'd rather his poignancy inside. alone I own pleasure

and slaughter, expectation and complaint. oh,

 

anything object! I say to myself lips do your work,

do your laundry, toss the salad; lips of search,

my dry ear imagines his utter's milk. I morse-code

 

with finger into further depths of my well-muscled

cavity. also: the language to say what I mean, spirit

that feels shut in slowly whispers, again and again

 

and again and a berry grows red and bulbous in

me. In thefantasy my ex-lover eats the berry,

dives inside to seek and destroy, reaches peak,

 

reaches in to steal my speech! I am lost in the

twisting of water-petaled fingers, many-hallway

house until it is not an effort but just leftover sweat,

 

the hulking berry explodes like a landmine. I go

black, I go back, am dead, come to, see the man

who won't talk to me trespass, his own distorted

 

face singing in falsetto notes a red rose apart.

I rest my head against the pillow, think of styrofoam

confetti, molecules and endorphins releasing

 

themselves still, disassociated from this mess,

my dress torn, my body a box left on the curb two

floors below my open window. I imagine the box's

 

flaps moving like arms as I slowly enter twilight-sleep

–to the left, to the right – flaps caught in a whoosh of

 wind, my mouth the world amidst deep exhalation.