a Heart, not a Tumor
14
South Dakota is a very bad place
for my sister to mutter, “but I want a girlfriend.”
In the poisonous screams, you could almost trace
the lines on her chest the world wouldn’t mend.
My mother’s marriage, held in arthritic hands,
unceasingly crashed upon “daddy’s closed ears”
voluntarily sunk in his Catholic sands:
eye for an eye, queer for a queer.
My sister’s mind first tasted then
the cure to social exorcism:
her pouring love was pre-damned when
obsidian tongues sang “hedonism!”
She said, “The world is changing, it’s not a rumor.
I just wish it would happen sooner.”
Dustin Vognild