Poet: Kendra Grant Malone, Brooklyn, NY
Smalldoggies Poetry Feature #18: Kendra Grant Malone, Brooklyn, NY
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Three Hundred Dollar Bruise
i have a bruise on my ass
about the size of an orange
it's sore and welted
and worth roughly three hundred
dollars, if you take
everything into account
i know the depth of it
it lies about a eighth
inch under my skin
and will last visibly
roughly two and a half weeks
i have found a way
to make being a little bit
pretty
and a lot a bit stoic
very profitable
two years ago
i bought a three hundred
dollar coat on credit
and spent too long
paying it off
now i don't have problems
like those much anymore
i have new problems
like sitting in certain ways
and finding excuses to
avoid being seen in a
bathing suit
there is additional difficulty
in avoiding talking to
people about why i like
it, why i like
the bruise and getting it
there are two ways
to keep concern at bay
one, is to talk about the money
to carry around expensive things
and wear three hundred
dollar coats
people like that
because it is easy to rationalize
choices in monetary amounts
how do you do it?
oh, it's easy, i just
close my eyes and see
dollar signs
the other way to talk
about this
without causing unnecessary
worry
is just making a funny joke
but that often does not
work quite as well
oh my god, what happened
to your thigh?
oh, i tripped and
landed on a belt and
now i have three hundred
more dollars, weird huh?
i will be honest though
there is something sad
about this, something
very very sad
no one will ever be belted
by the person they want to
be belted by
because any rational person
capable of loving you
will only hurt you if you ask
and when they do
it won't be as good
as the person who wants
to belt your ass
so badly
that they will pay to
do it
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To Be Smashed Is To Be Smashed
my secret
is I have a strong desire to
be beaten to death
but it's not a secret
because this exists
you are reading this
I am speaking to you
because I do
not believe in secrets
now you know
I want you to beat
me
what will you do?
will you take away my
assertation that I am
a feminist?
will you tell me
things like this belong on
two separate moral compasses
oh you are right!
do you care who it is that
crushes my face for
the sole pleasure of hearing
strange gurgles? Do the details
change what kind of secret this
is?
not for me, no.
to be smashed is to be
smashed and that's all I want
I just really hate the thought
of ending by accident
or ending bravely
oh, I would hate that.
I am not a masochist
maybe I'm passive-aggressively suicidal
my will to live is not weak,
it's not damaged
it just isn't really there
no, it's hardly there at all
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Nous Sommes Les Animaux Part Two
(une plus poème pour vous, petit taureau)
I always loved you
better when you
were gone too
let’s take this love
and stuff it somewhere
like it was something
physical like
a little plastic bull
a pink one for
you, and a green
for me
little bulls I acquired
while drinking enough
to bear the pain of
grooming for you
and because of all
that necessary grooming
we will always have
that animal knowledge
also, because I never
clearly understood you
I’m not being fancy
here
your accent is just
so thick
maybe if I didn't
have dyslexia
and I could have
learned French
instead of just repeating
phrases you taught me
like your pet bird-
but hey, let’s not be
sad
I’ll always be your
American dream
thin with long legs
over sexed with
large breasts
I’m only sorry
I never dyed my
Italian hair blonde
while I painted
my nails your
favorite shade
of hooker red
anyways, I’m proud
to have had the
luck to understand
someone that way
that you can’t
if you can speak
easily
that understanding
that only bulls have
even little plastic
ones
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Talking With Women
a woman came up
behind me this
morning
on the sidewalk
“you know smoking
makes you skinny”
she said
“i know,” i said
we walked past
a terrifying looking
block
she had an accent
jamacan or barbadian
it made me think of
warmer places
we talked and
walked at the same
pace
“that’s why I’m
afraid to quit”
“I used to be so
skinny”
“so you quit?”
“I made a promise
to myself, but
I’m still pretty small”
“you’re skinny”
“I miss being skinny”
there was more
to say
but she went into
key foods
then I continued on
alone
at the train station
stairs
I was out of breath
when I heard my
train arriving
because of my cigarette
so I didn't run
I let it go
at the platform
she looked so tired
“do you need help?”
I asked
“oh god would you?”
“of course, I’m a nanny,
I understand”
but really I didn't
I lifted her son’s
stroller and went
all the way back
down to the street
and then
I walked back up
to wait
out of breath again
there was still
a whole day
of talking with
women to be
done
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For Catherine, After The Clinic
I'm so glad
I could surprise you
today
on your horrible day
after I left the clinic
it was my last
errand of three
and I thought
"I want to see
Catherine"
and I did
see you
"I just broke
up with brad at noon"
you said
with that same
effortless facial
expression you almost
always have
and god it was terrible
how badly I wanted to
see my friend's teeth just
then
so I lied to you
I gave you
the agate I shouldn't have
bought, and it did seem
like you liked it
don't you worry so
much! I know I'm not the
only one who doesn't
mistake coolness
for dispassion
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Kendra Grant Malone is the author of Everything is Quiet (Scrambler Books) and the forthcoming collection, Morocco (Dark Sky Books) co-authored with Matthew Savoca. She has been published widely in print and on the web.
For more info visit her official website.