strange places I’ve woken up

strange places I’ve woken up

by Helen Vitoria

in the church pew at St. Teresa’s, my spine turning the texture of chalk dust. The church bells fogged up by my brass yellow tongue. On the 7 train into Queens whose thunder resembled my peony printed sheet’s blood petals with black. In Richard’s apartment, while carefully deciding which shape of animal my bruises resembled. On his concrete patio, my cigarettes out of reach, while he smoked his Backwood’s honey berry cigars. In the backyard towards Allison’s house, where she danced in her panties with the door wide open. But, always registered the right amount of shock when her neighbors watched her. On the greenest pool table velvet, while Sheila pushed harder, wrapping stars around my swollen gasper neck. In Coney Island, when I said no and it got mistaken for yes, the fun house mirror all spinning, distorted and stretched. Electric yet filled with rain.


-refers from the word church in Theresa Senato Edwards poem Architecture

  1. Enjoyed this very much. Tweeted.

  2. I like the post, fractals of your history.

  3. I enjoyed this a whole lot too!!, you feel like you know where a person has been

  4. Detailed well. Very good. I enjoyed this

  5. Thank you for all the kind words everyone!

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