Jenn Monroe

Because She Raised A Nice Girl​

                                          
I want to touch you
right there 
where my mother taught me
to dab perfume. Pulsing 
cove, shadowed by velvet, 
vulnerable to tongue 
tip, pressed lips, parting 
breath. Your soft hair erect, 
nerves lit up, want me to reach
through my hesitation.
But again
my hand falls to my side.

---

These are Only Ideas at this Stage

They stayed there, indefinitely, like biological sentries.
Apparently needs appeared to herd themselves, like Army 
Rangers. Artists and writers at last finding real answers. Bad.  

But what if, in the process, by growing thicker, or more efficient,
communication, by tinkering, can answer them. Cells activated 
by an experience, certain memories, chronic, could be misused, 

could erase, could make you critical. Distant childhood scenes, 
enhanced, entirely dark, erupt when one cell stimulates another.
Explorers of the past fear for addiction, for centuries. For trauma. 


Forget. Forget a strong disgust. Like a group of people joined,
like malicious stalkers, memory could lead to an arms race. 
My dad, he’s dead now. Mysterious. Pinpoint the purpose

each one serves. Poems, possibly capture problems, racing 
ahead, attracting billions, raising questions. The answer, 
the discovery: the exploration of identity.


 

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Jenn Monroe is in love with the limitless quality of words. She writes poems, is founder and executive editor of Extract(s), a daily literary blog, and is founder and executive editor of Lit House Press. A native of Western NY, she lives in New Hampshire.