Two poems by Heather Brown Barrett
A Vulgar Mouth
It’s not real
if
never said aloud
how not to bow down or harden
into ardor; how chafed
knuckles and marred kneesÂ
do not make a prayer,Â
onlyÂ
an undoing, and yearsÂ
to weighÂ
the demon on a shoulder, eachÂ
timeÂ
disappointed in its accusatory tally,Â
 tugging the corners of bowelsÂ
like soured taffy;Â
how mutinous a habit, speakingÂ
in sign language to the coldÂ
belly of a rigid beast;Â
exorcismÂ
heavesÂ
demons.
Heavy Upheaval, I Am
not the victimÂ
                    laying prone in a pool of my own steakÂ
                    blood for months     years
not the wound
                    my open mouthÂ
                    oozes purulent amber
not the truthÂ
                    sidesteppingÂ
                    in a conspiracy of limbs
not the apologyÂ
                    sidestepping truthÂ
                    holding a grocery bag of excuses
but I am
                    still leaking, not the shame, but whatÂ
                    it forges—
hypocrisy.
Heather Brown Barrett is a lifelong poet and a member of Hampton Roads Writers. She lives in southeastern Virginia with her writer husband and their young son. Her poetry has been published by Superpresent Magazine, Backwards Trajectory, and by SEZ Publishing.