A Pornographic Matter
February 7, 2011 § Leave a comment
The day she stumbled upon her Uncle’s porn,
she had developed a fetish for ugly things.
Polaroid photograph of the dark backs of someone’s knees,
one strand of dead hair,
an old velvet skirt–
all in a shoebox under her bed.
Her mother had found the box one afternoon,
on one of her frantic cleaning sprees.
“What’s this?” she asked, holding up
the skirt, not taking note of the hair.
The child turned red and said
she had been meaning to throw it out.
Her mother handed her the box,
eyes on the next cobweb on the ceiling.
“My, how dirty,” the woman said,
as her daughter went downstairs to have
her way in the bathroom– with the photo,
and the hair, and the skirt.
When she was finished, she stuffed them behind
a loose brick, and looked at herself in the mirror.
Such beauty had become unbearable,
since the moment of the flashing teeth
and the swollen brown teat,
wrinkled, heavy, and tired,
like a hot air balloon
that would never leave the ground.