Custard
The revolution
is people
The state
is people
I am a person
I feel extremely
miniature and
poorly moisturized
I am
looking for a
cult to join
A cult of
women so
I can wear
my long white
linen dress
and sway in
a circle
The hot touch
of a hand
The heavy jaw
of my face
that becomes
lighter with
each song
If I were
pregnant would
I be free of
the unbearable
pressure to make
since my body
would go on
making Out pops
a wet and howling
mass that my
vaginal canal has
contorted into
a soft point I just
realized how
doughy a baby’s
head must be
Please do not
crush my baby’s
gooey head
Though I know
almost everything
in this world
is just that
It is crushing
and what can I
do while I
put on makeup
for my own father
eat butter beans
out of a can
have sad sex
and struggle
to weep
for the planet
I’m saying
it’s difficult to
make anything
that ancient
into something
resembling custard
Kira Clark is a poet and musician living in Brooklyn, OR where she volunteers with The Poetry Project. She previously edited for a small press in Portland, OR called Housefire. She has two beloved cats, a partner and is interested in radical compassion. Her band is called So Sensitive.
© Kira Clark
Photo Credit: © kolyadzinskaya / Adobe Stock
