Cinder

Abstract

Cinder Tiffany Austin (bio) A brush of hair gathered around the waist of a father, he asks somebody’s mother if she could watch his child for a while. Partly burned and to burn no more. A Vietnam vet once told me better to be raped and survive than to be killed, better to live with syphilis amongst wild horses, it’s only flesh, slant and crude. I want to explain on a high bed with a hard mattress that first loves contaminate, and little girls’ holes in any country can be rendered powerless. But body has lost hope, become borrowed sugar, taste buds. The soldiers are closer now. Closer to our village. Closer to our home. Horses I’ve never seen before are trampling across the water. There is not enough water to stop them. They are not wild enough to stop at water. Becoming a woman is wearable. I hear the water and the breathing of the horses’ hooves in between. Me and my country are scooped up flesh. A shoe stretched near a mother’s knees, she tells her daughter to smell like forgiveness always, but don’t forgive. Swallow your rottenness, and make sure you have clean underwear. [End Page 711] Tiffany Austin Tiffany Austin is a candidate for the PhD degree in English at St. Louis University. She has published in Obsidian III, Warpland, and Coloring Book: An Anthology of Poetry and Fiction by Multicultural Writers (2004). Copyright © 2011 The Johns Hopkins University Press