© 2023 by MCLA Spires. 

April 30, 2018

I share my mother’s cuticles,

her calloused hands and round knuckles that crack

every morning like chimes on a clock.

I carry my mother’s ankles around

under the cuffs of my jeans;

I lug the weight of her full-bodied torso,

stuffed with arteries and bones and vessels

filled w...

April 26, 2018

the night nurses chain-smoke outside of cape cod hospital,

drink their coffee from styrofoam dixie cups,

and pick lint off their pastel scrubs during break.

they live cross-legged on the stone wall by the emergency

exit, killing kindling cigarette butts in a communal ashtr...

April 26, 2018

The rope was knotted when I found it.
White and worn,
tense from the front to back with knots  
stretching as long as 5 feet and 11 inches.

I irked to untangle these knots, biting my nails loosened the
ability to free the rope.
One unraveled, several produced.

April 26, 2018

Are you the color

of Congress, the Senate,

and the tacky walls of the Oval Office?

Do you speak the right language,

is it with the right accent? And if not

can we use your brain or your labor

to make our weapons?

Would you vote for the correct person?

Were your ancestors broug...

April 26, 2018

Mother told me,

her roundness as the Earth,

“You should watch your weight.”

April 13, 2018

The all new redesigned Venus razor

will give you the smoothest shave

you’ll ever get and sits

in the endless repertoire of beauty

that’s expected to be performed.

It is among the youngest of its kind,

only there for a hundred of the thousands

of years that we have bled on thi...

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