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3 Poems by Evonne Acevedo


In the throes of Mecca, woman gives birth
to live grey frog, and a bit of mud. Her
noun is benign, medical; and now worth
is a quality of animals. Were
I to sponsor this loss of property,
abort faith in the marshes, I'd say kill
these future delegates, force dignity
into the raw of the mouth: living, will.
Her slippery hands -- opposable? Wide
eyes made more frightening, because they look
frightened? Because they twitch, starving, and slide
back into the God-made gurgle that took
a slosh of nerve, made it to live, like that?
Made revulsion into "mercy", like that?

white folks dancin'

harsh with elbows and
flat on hips these
young men
(I said, young men)
and counterparts wearing
pants around here
have made a wedding party out of
have made a tragedy out of
can't dance for legs' sake
and can't dance
by reason of

Skin Genius

I know for fact that there are animals
who eviscerate themselves, in defense
of course, hastily, though I can't recall
which animals, or which organs are best
to perforate, or lose completely, or
which, damaged, will not convey infection,
then eventual death, or something more
horrid, the writhing before death comes on.
But these are animals, and are lesser
and for eating. It does not matter, then,
if they want to be eaten. So while her
face was talking, et cetera, and when
I felt my organs wanting up, and out
through the mouth -- not exactly a "You make
me sick"; rather, an offering -- I thought
that she might not see in the time it takes
to scuttle away -- not in fear for life,
but in something secondary, brainy --
that the I-shaped viscera were not I,
or not the greater, worthy parts that she
aimed to move her mouth at. But then I am
more created than creatures, and not food,
for I can move my own mouth, and I can
simulate disinterest with a blood
covering, feign death spontaneously,
smartly in the teeth. This must be pity.

Evonne Acevedo received her MFA in poetry from Columbia College in Chicago, and has been featured in publications including New American Writing, Columbia Poetry Review, and RHINO Readers=Writers.


Hi Evonne;

Good stuff! Thanks for the tip on the line about pity as 'the kissing cousin of disgust'. The actual source still evades us.



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