Melissa Spiccia | MELISSA SPICCIA
Melissa Spiccia | MELISSA SPICCIA
Melissa Spiccia | MELISSA SPICCIA
Melissa Spiccia | MELISSA SPICCIA
Melissa Spiccia | MELISSA SPICCIA
Melissa Spiccia | MELISSA SPICCIA

Big Toe 2019

A fox is wailing, pick him up.

Arms slap around your nape like dead fish.

The stench stews in with your breath.

Death, no longer at your door but in your lap.

Stroking your hair.

Sucking its thumb.

He is not your child but who you have become. 

The dresser drawers slip out and run into the hall.

Your big toe leads you into the living room.

It scrubs up headless nests from the carpet.

Death sticks to your knee. 

Crawls up to your breast.

Unwarranted, you tell yourself.

He turns his cheek as you offer up your teat. 

Go on.

Stuff yourself.

In here, over there.

The world began turning upside down in high school.

The mirror stares back.

Pick up your liver, spleen.

Death turns the door knob.

Ungrateful bitch! The walls echo. 

Dresser drawers scramble back and hide in their ignorance.

Death digs up your witch.

On the porch a crocodile waits.

You look back.

Gone, we are gone.

The moon goes and slices itself in half.

Death lays trembling on the dirt track. 

The earth a muddy red. 

You look back.

Don’t look back.

 

1 of 6 images →