The Bones Below

a collection of poetry

by Sierra deMulder

Write Bloody Publishing

America’s Independent Press

Long Beach, CA

writebloody.com

The Bones Below
by Sierra deMulder

Write Bloody Publishing ©2010.

1st printing.

Printed in USA

The Bones Below Copyright 2010.

Printed in Long Beach, CA USA.

No part of this book may be used or performed without written consent from the author, if living, except for critical articles or reviews.

Cover Designed by Joshua Grieve

Interior Layout by Lea C. Deschenes

Edited by Derrick Brown, shea M gauer, Saadia Byram, Michael Sarnowski

Type set in Helvetica Neue and Bell MT

To contact the author, send an email to [email protected]

For Brian & my sisters

“And then the day came, when the risk

to remain tight in a bud was more painful

than the risk it took to Blossom.”

—Anaïs Nin

The Bones Below

At First Sight

When she stops kissing you

with her mouth open,

find the screw driver.

Buy a newly cut shank of beef.

Leave so much blood in the kitchen

she has to ask what happened.

When she no longer calls you baby,

hide all the silverware

between the couch cushions.

Send her there to sleep.

If she does not complain,

let the sinks in the bathroom overflow.

Bake the wedding photos

in the dryer. Stand in

the middle of your flood.

Call her name backwards, forwards.

Wave your arms like your chest is a runway.

She is the plane you are crashing.

When she does not reach

for you, pretend

it is the first time

you’ve met.

Misplacing Their Ring Fingers

The summer my parents lost their marriage

like so many magnets kicked under the refrigerator,

my cousin and I named trees after babysitters

we never had. We lived in our bathing suits,

washed our hair in pond water and sunburned.

(Once, my mother slammed the screen

door so hard, I comforted the hinges.) I taught

my cousin how to make face paint out of spit

and dirt. She taught me to swim underwater.

(Once, I found my father weeping on the bed

they did not share anymore.) On the green carpet

of summer, we played until the cicadas, dressed

in dusk, called us to dinner. We kissed goodnight

and I ran home barefoot in the dark.

(Once, I sat between my parents and placed their hands

in my lap like a seatbelt. I do not remember this.)

To this day, walking at night on that creaking road

still reminds me of wolves.

For my Exes

1

on the little league

field we traded virginities

like baseball cards.

2 & 3

I do not regret

leaving you, but there are things

we still don’t speak of.

4a

still masturbate while

thinking about you. feel used

in an empty room.

4b

the first day we met,

I told you I missed you

already. I still do.

5

you kissed me so hard

my lips bruised. I still look for

you in the mirror.

6