wicked alice| fall 2009

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Paula Kolek




He’s scalpel, parting

skin from breasts, breath from lungs.


She lies on printed paper, pretty

as gift wrap. His gloves pry secrets

like pearls

between her thighs – the sky splits,

trees stripped bare tongue depressors.


Rubbing alcohol, soap, a sanitized

Monet and diagram

of the human ear. Patting her,

he says, Desire

                      is the source of our suffering.

She watches the words pierce

the purple ear drum, lodge

in the hair cells of Corti.


How do you take back

what you don’t know is stolen?

Listen! Flesh isn’t mute,

the body speaks in blooded dreams.


Oh, to be able to say, this and this and this,

in a language only

stars understand. They’d burn

his hands to stumps, place grace

above his head, forgiveness at his feet.





Paul a Kolek is a current MFA poetry candidate at the University of Miami: Her poems have been published in Ditch, Otoliths, EOAGH, and RECONTRUCTION: Studies in Contemporary Culture and have been accepted for New Letters.  She has also had a monologue presented in The Krane’s production of Monologues Lingus