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Sponges and Sweeteners(Fire Furniture Sale)


by Darryl Price


I'm sorry the frightful 
women got to you before 
I could. They turned you 
into sandstone. They poured 
red paint over your face 

and beautiful hands. Now
you don't have to worry, 
they said, no one will know 
who you are in there. I 
will, I raised my hand, because
I saw her in the 

fairest morning light when 
she wasn't your member. 
Kill him, they screeched, kill the 
intruder. He doesn't 
deserve to be inside. 
Her beauty belongs with

us alone! The surly
women carved a mirror
out of your mountain and
praised themselves in its glow. 
More paint, they growled, more paint
to cement her pores to 

ugly perfection. But 
it's all a lie, I sang, 
hoping my melody 
might free her from prison.
She doesn't need captured
stars to shine in her polished

stables, but in their 
own wild nights, free and noisy 
as they please. Then they
built castles beneath your 
feet to keep you afraid
of heights. Don't worry, they 

smiled, we'll keep you on your 
toes. The hideous wives 
lied through their ugly, bitter
grabs for power like
razor sharp teeth clenching 

soft and vulnerable 
flesh. Don't listen to him, 
they chanted, stirring their 
hate and jealousy into
a sickening soup. 
We will feed you on our 

own special healthy recipes, 
they cooed, looking 
sideways at each other. 
You are not someone else, 
I sing, you are not one 
of them, not in that way. 

The repulsive ones placed 
harsh plastic palms over 
your yearning ears. You are 
not a sculpture for their 
hidden gardens, I sing,
you are the one who belongs 

to you. It is you who 
must decide how to treat 
others who come to you 
for love or comfort. You
to say how much is too 
much to give. Your power 

to live through it all, even 
sadness. The awful 
creatures will tell you how 
cute you look in that new 
hat. I think you look cute
as yourself. Hat or no.

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