hard scratch

i.

it begins under your skin

where muscle meets bone

where the elbow attaches to the fist

bone where the fist bone attaches

to the jaw bone it begins under

your skin this itch like a chigger bite

begins so small but burns as you claw-cut

it open you prefer the seeping

wound to the craving that settles

deep and seeps from your veins

infiltrates your brain and burns

your skin your darkness

ii

You were born in dirt

and dirt you’ve become

what sheds from the dirty mat

in front of the kitchen door is you

you’ve lived here for fourteen years,

kept it neat, swept it clean of lies

and bad living never having

stepped out of bounds

beneath your fingernails is dug earth

bread you shaped from clay the cakes

from mud there’s nothing to lose nothing

to prove nowhere to go but up from dirt

iii.

through the screen door

you can see a tire hung

by rope too heavy to sway just

hangs there dead suspended from a pine

beyond the chain-link there’s a field

and then the highway where cars

suddenly appear and speed away

too fast going only god knows where

iv.

you check the deadbolt and almost

lock it but there’s that itch again

in your fingertips it takes a single turn

to hear it click and the doorknob twists

the screen door flies open

bat-out-of-hell the itch is in your feet now

crawls up your bare legs as

the field weeds and thorn bushes

scratch and cut your skin

and then there’s only the expanse

of the sky and all those moving cars

buzzing in your brain I won’t

I won’t look back at the rectangular

darkness where you remember a gaping

mouth, vertical shadow, and fisted desire

itching your hand your extended

thumb stops a car which stops

your heartbeat for half a second when

everything moves into the morning

sun glinting off of glass you almost

out of habit scratch your breast

and roll down the window instead

the wind cooling your skin

blowing the dirt right off.

© Ami Mattison, 2011


For One Stop Poetry's One Shot Wednesday