Alone in this Shell

by Michael Brimbau

First published in May/June, 2007, Volume 4, Issue 2, The Hatchet: Journal of Lizzie Borden Studies.

My bosoms lay arid

and my hips barren and void

and under this cord dress

these hidden white legs

never to squeeze

to wrap, or to lay

a deep empty waste

never to fill, never to taste

sweet serum of moist love

left dry and unchaste.

With love that’s been rationed

by father inside

with never a tide

to flow in and flow out

or empty and fill

my desire and doubt

a man or a woman

to lie with or without.

I wake all alone

cold and unheld

in this mortician’s lair

in the night where I fell

to tear at my blouse

alone in this shell

desolation forlorn

this Second Street hell.