The Switch by Lawrence Bridges The appetite dropped. My body was a body now. It’s yours not ours. I held you Pieta style. I slept. Lucid dream. My father died. Switched off. I saw him go, carefully. He left me switched on. And so I bring to you Each day this story Where there is no betrayal, A homey feeling with eyes I love and that’s enough. Tall goddesses still exist and their embrace never loosens nor my need and reverence. It never slackens, surrounded by sub-goddesses, also tall and moving with rich grace, assigning me a local priestess to see to it I never leave her body, ours, comforting the stressed parts, entering the end of pleasure which it does, a hero you could say, awake to fight, sharpening his weapons switched on at last.
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Lawrence Bridges’ poetry has appeared in The New Yorker, Poetry, and The Tampa Review. He has published three volumes of poetry: Horses on Drums, Flip Days, and Brownwood with Red Hen Press.
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