portion of the artwork for Scarlett Peterson's poem

What I Will Tell the Next Lover
Scarlett Peterson

I want to melt in your mouth like candied ginger—
to leave you remembering my taste,
how I burned going down.

I want a body to hold me down like tires on gravel—
to grind me into the rock then lift me out,
wipe the blood from the corner of my mouth.

I want to hear my bones splinter like kindling—
to wrap each fracture tight in burlap,
splints made from popsicle sticks.

I want to be your church burned to the ground—
to hear you singing hymns in my memory
while the flesh falls from my bones.

I want you to be a fish giving thanks to water—
to watch as you suffocate on the bank,
cut loose from my line.


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FRiGG: A Magazine of Fiction and Poetry | Issue 51 | Spring/Summer 2018