poetry by beth marquez
Circle
I swallowed that girl whole.
I took the chain-scrape of her gospel in
where the marrow shame of my mother’s milk was.
My spine burned down, curved until it closed: a circle, a crown.
I took the chain-scrape of her gospel in.
Her, empress of white fists, commander of the spit that showered me.
My spine burned down, curved until it closed: a circle, a crown
for her. I was swollen curse, a dog-sweated mud girl, for
her. Empress of white fists, commander of the spit that showered me,
I swallowed and her voice became the razor-wire storm inside me.
For her, I was swollen curse, a dog-sweated mud girl, for
decades it was her splitting song crush that came from within for me.
I swallowed and her voice became the razor-wire storm inside me
until I turned my thick curse, turned the wet growl of the fields. For
decades it was her splitting song crush that came from within for me.
I watered and tilled a bladed and hungry opening
until I turned my thick curse, turned the wet growl of the fields. For
where the marrow shame of my mother’s milk was
I watered and tilled a bladed and hungry opening.
I swallowed that girl whole.
BETH MARQUEZ has been published in Moontide Press, Valley of the Contemporary Poets, and Ugly Mug anthologies. Her poems were selected for Damfino literary journal’s debut issue and the Like a Girl anthology from Lucid Moose Press, which nominated her poem “Shedding” for a Pushcart Prize. She is a 2017 Pink Door Fellow. She holds three mathematics degrees, has been writing and performing poetry for over half her life, and was once stranded on a deserted island.