We pop limbs from the moon, break knots like inept surgeons,
sing a blessing over marbled statue breasts broken brass feet
shuffle-carry the weight of her legs, cut our scalp on the sharp silver teeth.
She comes to life, slithers from our palms. Her face is ivory honeycomb.
She folds into origami. Bent, words curl to her easily. She cups my face,
smashes my mouth with her head. I wake in red drool
eat my own blood.
Janette Schafer is a freelance writer, nature photographer, part-time rock singer and full-time banker living in Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania. Her writing and photographs have appeared in numerous publications. She holds an MFA in Creative Writing from Chatham University. She has a forthcoming chapbook titled Something Here Will Grow from Main Street Rag.