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Honoré of the Yards

Katy Lynch, 2011

My mother’s namesake.
I would have sold it for a slab of bacon.
It hangs in the Yards
The raw red reek
Of my America dreaming.

I fell in love with the butcher
And his bloody hands.
His crimson nails
Were crusted black with my desire.
I nipped them once
Just for the taste of it.

I tend a strange hearth.
Drunk on the wine sweet smell
Of roasting lamb chops.
I keep a strange kitchen.
A child grows fat on my borrowed breast
And I shrink a little in my stupor.

If it would sustain me
I would drink his breath.
I would walk the Yards
And drink the air
Heavy with the stink of slain yearlings
I would be satisfied.
 
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All Information Copywright by Chimes Publication, Saint Mary's College 2010