Sylvia’s Scissors / “Velvet” Sharon McKenzie

Red hands rummage

your train-cased thoughts

electrocutions, pill drawers, and pantyhose

until I pull you to sad pieces


carving up your home-sewn dress

cigarette burns on final drafts

severing blond starlet hair

that falls like brass

curls cut

from mother’s Christmas angel, when

I learned

some things cannot grow back


only up


I grew

to watch you

paint your cottage

with raw meat

each board a rib of Adam

you’d never steal


Housewives winked from oven


Your ego poured in bourbon

broke glass

crushed milk and ribbons

ice buckets and bramble bread


I try to meet you

on canvas or courtyard



what always was

in the red

the red

the bone

the glue

that stuck the wings

from the father’s bees that kept you

brushed thick

ash-ink and honey

painting mirrors  

until the piss was shook

from every word


The perfect edge

of scissors

that never cut

the sting

Published by ericorosco

Eric Orosco is 25 years old and tired of waiting for things to happen on their own.

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