Godland: Sammie Jo

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Sammie Jo don’t talk much.
Her mother like to cut out her tongue
any time she speaks up.
A bone outta socket.
As big as the couch she sits on;
you could fluff her like a piller.
At eighteen, her face is oldest stone.
That couch become her throne, this
country her kingdom- she lords it over
with mute condescension.
At eighteen, her breasts roll like hills
and her hair is everywhere.

___

The featured image accompanying this poem, entitled ‘Blush’, has been used with the permission of artist Lois Van Baarle.

Robert Eric Shoemaker

Robert Eric Shoemaker is a poet, playwright, and journalist in Chicago. His work is published with the Chicago After Dark Anthology and the Pulitzer Center on Crisis Reporting. For more info, visit reshoemaker.com.

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