Poetry, Catherine Stump
Potbelly politics wrapped up
in silk, Cuban cigars cradled
in forefingers. Muscular
ex-militaries straining their
suits, egos bruised by
autopsied fathers. Blood
money pensions parading
through parking lots,
appearances, like bleach-bottle
wives, manipulated by
stacks of rolled dollars.
She forgets how they feel,
when she reflects on each meal.
Forgets the curve of their
currency disposed of in spite.
But she remembers His
scent, His lack thereof;
no pomade, no vices, no
gunpowder, no grime, no
cologne choking on arching
collars or thin lips bruised with
bad wine. Just his mother’s
detergent and dollar store
deodorant, smile sucking on
police station peppermints; he
offered her one. She was
always known to never refuse.
Catherine Stump is located on the outskirts of Philadelphia and is the current recipient of a creative writing scholarship. She needs a lot of work and some TLC, but she's got a lot of charm and good lighting. Just imagine what you could do with all this great counter space.