The Patriarchy, Its Rumpled Sheets

By Sierra Brown
December 5th, 2015

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You are here,
lugging your wagon of tongues.

You name your price
to the passerby, who are curious
to know the secrets
that would warrant such plunder.

I already know
how a disembodied thing
stills, turns blue.

I have learned
from you, lover. I pluck

the violets
from the field instead,
find power triumphs over
beauty, but only
for a moment.

There are more
whenever I go.

When I visit your bed
tonight, you will crush
the flowers from my hair
between your fingers,
call them dirty. Teacher,

what will I learn
from your spit
on my ear,

my tongue you take
and put in your wagon?