Saying them anyway
I like the rain
and the way mud
slides between
unshod toes.
The smell of gasoline
makes me smile
and deserts bore
me tearless.
I know the weight
of each breast and
precisely how to
please myself.
Chocolate hangs
on my last sweet-tooth
and Sahara-dry red wine
is my Achilles’ heel.
I don’t like hugging
strangers but I
hate being afraid
of strangers more.
Seeing birds in cages
pains me and kids
in cages wounds as
much as falling
on a cactus.
Tamara Fricke is the 2010 co-winner of the Gertrude Claytor Award of the Academy of American Poets and is previously published by The Lyon Review, Meat for Tea, Attack Bear Press Poetry Vending Machine, Whisper and the Roar, We Will Not Be Silenced, and has been included in a number of compilations. Her poetry chapbook Our Requiem was released in 2014. She lives in Springfield, MA, with…
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