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Inferior Goddess
- University of Arkansas Press
- Chapter
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Inferior Goddess August descended upon us with yellowing wings, apples grown soft with rot. I am tethered between porch and magnolia, the garden fringed with sullen flowers, brown-hemmed grass. Cotton shirts clipped to the line hang forlorn, limp hands no one wants to kiss. I am the goddess of the laundry basket, of the microwave, of the backyard, with earth beneath my feet, a shag carpet of lawn confused and surviving. Nothing sprouts as expected. Inside, my fingernails blue • • • • • • from holding frozen meat too long, patties in plastic— I’m suspended over sink and stove, a puppet, a gloomy angel yearning for a bit of pretty grace— not knowing when to thaw and when to move on to the takeout menu clinging to the silver-sided fridge. And still, the yard outside my kitchen window taunts, a crude dominion of hasty blooms haunted by bees and their rough blessings. • • • • • • ...