Hemogoblins
The hemogoblins in your blood
are running rampant
ghoulish, green-gray and
ghastly.
They bestow no mercy and do not ask
for for-give-ness.
They drag their claws
along the walls of your blood vessels
and pound your heart
like a battered bongo drum.
They rip pieces of your lung tissue apart
(like cotton candy at a fair)
pack it into a pipe to smoke it.
They scream out your ears.
Hunched and hungry
they feast
on the fleshy part of your arm
the cartilage of your knee
the succulent bone of your wrist.
They boil fingernail stew
and crunch spindly finger sticks.
Your knuckles crack their back teeth so they swallow them whole.
They
climb
your
spine
like a sledding hill
and slide down it like kids
barreling down a staircase
on a collapsed cardboard box.
They filet your lymph nodes for dinner
and slice triangle pieces of your shoulder blade for cake.
Saliva tea touched with teeth teabags before bed.
Your mouth is dry.
The hemogoblins in your blood
do not sleep
are running rampant
are hungry
are angry
are ghoulish, green-gray, and ghastly
are merciless
do not ask
for for-give-ness.
***
Claire Cortese was born and raised in rural New Hampshire. During her undergraduate studies, she received the Richard M. Ford Writing Award for Nonfiction, and the Frederick Hyde Hibberd ’88 Scholarship Award for Poetry from the University of New Hampshire. She received her M.A. in Creative Writing from Durham University. Her work has appeared in Not Deer Mag, Maya’s Micros of The Closed Eye Open, and Wild Roof Journal.