she lives in the kitchen paints her face
with paste she scrapes from cans sleeps on the floor in front of her stove
wakes up hungry stuffs her lovers into sausage skins
fries them up for breakfast they sizzle in her cast-iron pan
she turns up the heat her lovers pop and spatter spots on the walls
spots on the crystal she takes and shatters with her hands
fragments and blood with fragments drop into her mixing bowl
she makes her hands into fists grinds the glass
into a hash the color of what she’s hungry for
cooks everything until it’s done takes her meal hot
sopping up the drippings with gingerbread men
she breaks and blackens for toast
(Copyright 2023 by Tetman Callis.)