“Left Eye” by Coop Lee
young woman stares at herself in the mirror
bruised beaten purple blue so thick the lick of
hate to her face her heart her heavy heart she
tiptoes the carpet the cool covered carpet to the
walk in wardrobe the deep closet deep hole and
she takes one last look of her boyfriend’s sneaker
collection his mounds his pounds of fresh shoe
fresh fist fresh she as she throws them to the
bathtub piled high and up and high in tub of kick
and she douses that mound in lighter fluid like
the smell of it like chemical wet like nothing as
she speaks and sparks the little matched flame
little flicker flame and it lights as if molten skin
bubbling with her just sitting there and watching
and so alone like entranced and fallen into what
but the color of it the fire of it her eyes glossed in
an absent lull to the tips when licked and licking
the house like curled flesh of boys she once knew
and this place this home now awoken now
ending in death orange it rises up and lisa walks
downstairs down and away and into the street
[author_info]Coop Lee’s work has appeared in Side B Magazine, Whole Beast Rag, Atticus Review, and elsewhere. He spends the weekend drinking and swimming on the river. He is sunburned. He is napping. He is dreaming. This is a good summer. Coop lives and writes in Boise, Idaho.[/author_info]
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