Rudy Francisco
A Poem for Ashley
I’ve got a friend named Ashley.
She has a venus fly trap in between her legs.
Smiles like a pipe bomb full of fireflies.
Last month she got married. To this dude named Damen.
A 26 year old boy with a short temper no plans and a heart like a Rubik's Cube
These days her only hobby is trying to find the right combination to his unconditional love
but she can only figure out the colors that match the wounds he has left on her body.
Honestly he treats her like a small country with no military and lots of oil.
He occupies her whenever he wants he invades her borders he depletes her resources
I’m surprised Dick Cheney's face isn’t engraved on the back of her wedding ring.
I was watching CNN the other day.
I came to the conclusion that Ashley and Iraq actually have a lot in common.
They were both attacked without reason.
Both blamed for things they haven’t done
Both have no weapons of mass destruction.
She is just a caterpillar that’s already turned into a butterfly but hasn’t realized that she can spread her wings and leave.
Hasn’t realized that a relationship between a dragon and a unicorn is destined for failure.
I fear that someday she’ll have to read her bruises like instructions.
The first time he put his hands on her she came to my door with leopard spots
and I watched her tears fall like the value of an American dollar.
She collapsed in my arms as if she were a building with a belly full of explosives and I held her close crumbling like an urban city
You see that night she pulled her planet from the solar system she placed it in the center of my hands hoping that I could make her world beautiful again and I knew.
I knew everything that she wanted to ask me so instead of offering her some, some fruit basket full of advice.
I put her eyes on backwards so she could look inside of herself to find the answer.
But if I could I would have pulled the question marks out of her spine and then used them to choke the life out of her insecurities.
But that night we were just candles melting down to our wicks and I inhaled the smoke from her burning soul like her spirit was made of nicotine.
I took her emotions I tied them around my arm until there was bumper to bumper traffic in my veins.
I injected her tears into my bloodstream that night I swallowed her story.
And she made me promise to keep it safe in the confines of my stomach.
But now I am shoving this poem down the avenues of my throat and throwing up her secrets like gang signs.
Ashley. If you can hear this.
I’m sorry.
but the silence is killing me.
I’m afraid it would do the same to you.