"And the Cherry Pie Is Runny, Too" by Tricia Louvar
2 poems by Millie Tullis
"The Rape Kit"
you are the consistency of a fingernail--
swelling, the swarm begins
in blood. you are the buzzing bag--
the witch has made you thin
needle enters
soft white apple, arm’s skin
they forget to ask you
as she thins
closer to
that outside
your skin
bitch forgets to ask
before she skins
plucks ancient hair
scrapes thin
lining, the deep sides
through twin labia’s dry, flesh grin
let q tips trace
pink spots:
nipples, stomach, neck skin
where foreign cum
may still s(l)eep.
let her pin
you to the bed
again,
rename the sore
pieces
of a body:
sample
dead skin.
swelling, the swarm begins
in blood. you are the buzzing bag--
the witch has made you thin
needle enters
soft white apple, arm’s skin
they forget to ask you
as she thins
closer to
that outside
your skin
bitch forgets to ask
before she skins
plucks ancient hair
scrapes thin
lining, the deep sides
through twin labia’s dry, flesh grin
let q tips trace
pink spots:
nipples, stomach, neck skin
where foreign cum
may still s(l)eep.
let her pin
you to the bed
again,
rename the sore
pieces
of a body:
sample
dead skin.
"Dirty Girl"
the root
grows
from me
i am mother, a pale peoniepink
hood
waiting
but the weight
turns in
i am
wet box collapsing
something inside
died
you don’t go near it
you fear death too well
death smell
gives me nothing
to lace fingers around
i can’t measure it
even suspended in hot water
i can’t get the parts
clean
there must be something wrong
with (it)
after you touched ()
(hooked me around your index
like a beckoning)
you kept that finger away
from the rest of your hand(body)
rushed to wash it
as if you can smell
what
i taste
grows
from me
i am mother, a pale peoniepink
hood
waiting
but the weight
turns in
i am
wet box collapsing
something inside
died
you don’t go near it
you fear death too well
death smell
gives me nothing
to lace fingers around
i can’t measure it
even suspended in hot water
i can’t get the parts
clean
there must be something wrong
with (it)
after you touched ()
(hooked me around your index
like a beckoning)
you kept that finger away
from the rest of your hand(body)
rushed to wash it
as if you can smell
what
i taste
Millie Tullis is a poet living in northern Utah. In 2015 she won the Sandy River Review's Undergraduate Poetry Prize and in 2016 she won the Elizabeth R. Curry Poetry Contest. Her poems have been published in Noble / Gas Qtrly recently. She can be reached at http://millietullis.weebly.com.
Tricia Louvar lives in the Pacific Northwest and studied journalism, poetry, aesthetics, and documentary photography in college and beyond. She works in publishing as a visual artist and writer. Her work has appeared in the New York Times, Los Angeles Times, Brevity, Orion Online, Zyzzyva, and more. tricialouvar.com
Artist Statement: At a Saturday kaffeeklatsch, after splitting a piece of banana bread, I am the one nibbling pieces of its raw sugar left behind on the plate. Such an instantsummarizes my artistic impulses of focusing on the leftovers and the overlooked. I investigate the human condition and its relationship to impermanence with digital and analog tools.
Artist Statement: At a Saturday kaffeeklatsch, after splitting a piece of banana bread, I am the one nibbling pieces of its raw sugar left behind on the plate. Such an instantsummarizes my artistic impulses of focusing on the leftovers and the overlooked. I investigate the human condition and its relationship to impermanence with digital and analog tools.
