The Soul Within Woman by Rachel M Simon

Her voice deep ash and age

throaty backstroke

Years after the wandering uterus

nailed and stapled

I drew a Canadian map

guidebook loaned out

To scrape away the windshield’s ice

thumbtack sculpture

This cave unspelunkable

vocal dreamland

Melodies unmerry indigo plump

curling tumbler

Exact reminders of large mistakes

adoption farce

Padded envelope too large for mailbox

grainy photo

Ample embouchure for hammy carols

private key brace

I have grown remarkably since

Myrtle’s puppet

Post-polio smoking lessons

Saskatoon sky

Big-lipped canyon ladies

by Rachel M Simon

poem published in H_NGM_N

photograph originally uploaded to flickr by Hk-l.

Liquidation Sale by Rachel M. Simon

You will reach a lifepoint
when the pictured collars
of thirty years ago
evoke a warm ketchup feeling, not a
what were they thinking? electrode.

We’re all dying, all pulling
our laces so tight, later
you will have red line evidence
on your bare feet
sliding under the untucked.

In olympic diving the goal
is to make a splash much smaller
than my olive propelled
from toothpick to gin.
Ties are just stain magnets afterall.

Every seven years you have
an entirely new body.
Each cell free of the crap
of shitty 1998. In nine years
you’ll have the same bad habits.

Around age thirty
you’ll talk freely about
your STD history.
If you have kids you’ll talk
poo and movie ratings.

Who do you have to know
to die painlessly in your sleep?
Rumor has it the afterlife menu
is bland, go ahead
ride the motorcycle.

Arthritis, shingles, eyelash curler,
hemorrhoids, hair loss, hangnail
depilatory, puberty, osteoporosis,
mowing the lawn, short term,
long term memory loss

Everything
must
go.

by Rachel M. Simon

published in H_NGM_N #4