“Left Eye” by Coop Lee

young woman stares at herself in the mirror

bruised beaten purple blue so thick the lick of

hate to her face her heart her heavy heart she

tiptoes the carpet the cool covered carpet to the

walk in wardrobe the deep closet deep hole and

she takes one last look of her boyfriend’s sneaker

collection his mounds his pounds of fresh shoe

fresh fist fresh she as she throws them to the

bathtub piled high and up and high in tub of kick

and she douses that mound in lighter fluid like

the smell of it like chemical wet like nothing as

she speaks and sparks the little matched flame

little flicker flame and it lights as if molten skin

bubbling with her just sitting there and watching

and so alone like entranced and fallen into what

but the color of it the fire of it her eyes glossed in

an absent lull to the tips when licked and licking

the house like curled flesh of boys she once knew

and this place this home now awoken now

ending in death orange it rises up and lisa walks

downstairs down and away and into the street

[author_info]Coop Lee’s work has appeared in Side B Magazine, Whole Beast Rag, Atticus Review, and elsewhere. He spends the weekend drinking and swimming on the river. He is sunburned. He is napping. He is dreaming. This is a good summer. Coop lives and writes in Boise, Idaho.[/author_info]