There lies at the crossroad a rough brick tall roof structure. Their lies set it up, this apostolic apogee, spiderweb glass slammed against! Therein lies the problem, right? How can we fault these freshly grown women, tall as trees?
There lies beside this building signs and sigils, blond highlights screaming murder murder! Their lies echo other tales told them in naves, breeding pious fits or pious breeding pits. Therein lies a woman’s original sin, broken in, signs to weakness and control, so why seek to join a role?
There lies inside the building a box. Inside the box is a sheet of paper. Their lies are thus inscribed: you like Barbies, you like Joes. You drive cars. You paint toes. There, in lies and statements, is the big deal, flushed in pink and blue tones, a deal!
There lies in state no answers, just mothers.The mothers stacked, insensate cordwood to build up their boys. It’s their lies! Therein lies the rest of the day, as noon creeped on, and the heat flowed.
There lies between the house’s lines these constant context clues to break the walls. Their lies bounced off these, or maybe they themselves bounced, maybe maybe! Therein lies our greatest challenge, how do we do this, how do we do this?
How do we do this?
Nonah Cagney Palmer is a poet, essayist, queer scholar and gadfly pursuing her PhD in creative writing at the University of Louisiana at Lafayette. She’s been published most recently in Clitbait and The Erozine, and has been published under older, deader names in MockingHeart Review, The Wild Word, and others.
image: MM Kaufman