2 March 2008 | Vol. 8, No. 1
Knuckles
Dirt under your nails, Jack said to me
when I cut him, thumb-wrestling.
The tiny wound bled. He called
my thumb the knuckled tornado; called me
darling when we hid in the closet,
giggling, fumbling, splendid. That was the roast,
the rest was gravy. After I threw
the television out the window, screaming
like a train, he ravaged the refrigerator
and ate the beans that we had canned for winter.
About the author:
Allison Shoemaker's poems have appeared in The Pedestal Magazine, Barnwood Poetry Journal, Dark Sky Magazine, Contrary, The Commonline Project, and Admit Two. She is also a founding member of The Ruckus, a collaborative theater company. She can be found geographically in the Midwest and digitally at allisonshoemaker.blogspot.com.
For further reading:
Browse the contents of 42opus Vol. 8, No. 1, where "Knuckles" ran on March 2, 2008. List other work with these same labels: poetry.
