Fatal Mouths
       

The city guys are stringing Christmas lights on the locust trees.

The men are lifted in buckets. First, any old witches come down.

And then the forgotten paper pumpkins. The bats.

The city guys shake loose the dried locust pods: brown and curled

they land on Essex Street like snakes. Finally, the white

lights can go up and stay past the New Year.

If there is a God, His indifference has settled deep within

my ribcaged country. Last night, on television, I saw a woman scrubbed

of makeup give a speech. I read about a woman who screamed

but no one came. All over her body: fatal mouths

widened with a knife. The city guys string

white lights on bare branches, and wind them around

fat trunks tight and soon, all of Salem will glow.

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Copyright © 2018 Jennifer Martelli All rights reserved
from My Tarantella
Bordighera Press
Reprinted by Verse Daily® with permission