Appitite

Here's a new poem this week. I haven't posted last week's one yet because I'm still waiting on some feedback, but I'll probably post it soon anyway. Meanwhile, I hope you enjoy this next one.

New Book, First Day Release

I ate it in big bites, words dribbling from my lips

like milk. I was 14. The attic was dim-lit

and empty, so it didn’t matter that I skimmed

over some pages like lima beans, or skipped

to the end at times to see if it was sweet

like ice cream on my tongue.

The scuttle of mice in the floorboards

didn’t disturb me. Sometimes it became

part of the meal, mixing with the meat

of the story, tender and rare.

Halfway through, I was hungry enough

to swallow everything: the rain ringing

on a catch pan, my mother calling me

for dinner, even the darkness

gathering in the corner. Then,

it was night. The feast was smeared

on my mind, red stains spreading.

Those would never come out.

My thoughts were spilling and it was

a mess I spent hours scrubbing.

I discovered later that my mother knew

what happened on the other side of that door.

The leftovers I carried were visible

on my hands and in my eyes. “That’s why,”

she said, “we teach you manners.”

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So, fictional experience based on how, at times, I have gone to an empty room with a new book and voraciously devoured its contents. Thinking about that imagery, I wrote this poem. I also tried to think about the after effects of such an experience. So, yep, let me know what you think! Comments and critiques are needed and wanted.