Maia Coen
2019 - Inspired by Sam Sax
Bury; the memory in the yellow dress of rum of pie of chocolate milk
yellow dress covered in flowers that didn’t bloom
you didn’t care for it anyway
Bury; the girl who held your hair
ready to drag you across the coals
you felt like syrup then
slow
sticky
& too sweet
did she mean to peal you apart?
Bury; the man who called feminism an opinion
fill his coffin with the coffee cups his roommate took
and cover them with dirt
does it hurt to breathe in the earth like that? mixed with rocks and decay
Bury; the way you pick at the flesh of your lips pealing the dead skin back until you taste the metallic salt of blood
maybe you like the way it tastes
Bury it
Bury it
Bury it all
Bury; your mother alive
watch her thrash and scream
but bury her anyway
so, she can’t hurt you anymore
does it hurt?
Bury; the girl who drank you dry
like you drank the green apple vodka
In the basement
when I was 16 my mother handed me a plastic bottle
Bury; the smell after you’ve flossed your teeth pick the dead things out,
you’ve killed them
Bury; the time you got so drunk
you forgot your underwear in your hurry to get the hell out of that dorm room
you didn’t care for them anyway
Bury; the bird that sang too loud for your unworthy ears
Bury it in the backyard next to all your dead fish
Bury; the Italian man who wouldn’t stop
who left you sobbing in a shower so hot it burnt your lungs
calling out for the boy who made you feel loved then lost you
Bury; the things you’ve never talked about under the dirt,
the pressure their prison,
bury them in the grave you dig
and cover them in red flowers
that couldn’t bloom