Sometimes, the day after, I wake up
to bruises. But the ground swears
it wasn’t involved. And I believe him.
Have you ever been hit? The ground slaps
hard. So do flights of stairs that leave you
on a creaking guard rail five stories up with an open head.
Then you leave streaks of blood down the hallway.
40s in the morning on a sour stomach wallop.
It hits like he does when he tells me he hates that he came.
He hates he knows the real mess.
The tow trucker had one missing tooth but he smiled.
He adjusted his pants and told me to have a good night.
It was the best bruise that happened all day.
It took four hours and four thousand dollars.
The ground swears he was somewhere else that night.
I grow plants on my back porch.
The herbs are dead but the carnivorous plants are just swell.
C Yoder enjoys clever wordplay and the use of words to create deeper meanings. Poetry should capture the human spirit both in its aesthetic essence but also in the clever, human ability to structure and see the cracks/inequalities in that structure. They’ve been published in Chapman University’s Calliope (placing 1st place for fiction in 2003), UW’s Bricolage, Navigational Tangents, and various other online publications. Other hobbies include: growing tomatoes, writing a cookbook, and travel.