gold

 

I made a bunch of gold from a buncha junk
I changed in my savings for a coupla gold bars
It’s gaudy but it’s genuine
I’m gonna have a dinner plate made outa my life savings in gold bars and sleep
with it on my chest in my tomb
I always had a good relationship with the sun-god
I spent more coins on the postage for this junk than on this junk
Just some crap I found in my room and arranged together so it pleased my eye
Gonna send it to you, gonna call it gold

 

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milagros

 

For once, shot in the eye
For twice, needled shoe
For three times literal lunatic

For once, residual tenderness
For twice, rigid spine
For three times self-soiled

For once screamed laughing: eruption
For twice, brilliant good luck
For three times

For once no pain: cut the nerve, blood had to pool
For twice, to be chosen, or, abutting some choice
——Cheeks backed up to the planed edge

For three times, “Don’t wanna torture you”

For once not counting
For twice color match
For three times wasn’t supposed to feel goddesses down the sides

Once compos mentis
Twice nothing broke
Three times stained the comforter’s great spread
Of an o.k. sensation

 

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nicole trigg is the author of a chapbook, Double Cup. She collaborated with strangers to make the literary magazine Birkensnake 6, and recent writing is published in Macaroni Necklace and 580 Split. She organizes a reading group at the Bay Area Public School on feminine and/or feminist writing, lives in Oakland, and works at SPD.