Poetry: Bruises – Morgan Maple

Bruises
Morgan Maple

shaped like Africa I’d gotten it after sipping too much vodka soda before a football game.
Saturated tree lined streets with ora    nge       bleeding into tar. My family called me Graceful
because I was not, but they                              never saw me drink more than a wine cooler at
the local community p                                               ool.   Run.             Bird of air let those locks flow as your
wings. Hit the ceme                                                      nt so fast your body grins grinding itself
anew. I hadn’t                                                              felt rain before. My mother hated when my
knees scraped leav                                                ing inflamed red knowing I’d pick off the scabs in
gym class while the other                                                 kids kicked dodgeballs through the grass.
Dirty toes. Field Day 2004 t                                      shirts glinting with perspiring fat. I’d wanted to
scrape off the congealed fat                           underneath my arms. Skin smears. Grass imprints
like I’m one the earth turning it’                    s axle aligning right down to it.
Skipping dinner              and                             eating one tablespoon of peanut butter          for
           lunch.              wondering                   how much                    adipose            peanuts
contain. Bit my tongue hitting the gr    ound thinking maybe that will hoax my stomach.