Angel of the Morning
Who are you?
You are “husband.”
What is “husband?”
“Husband” is made out of rubberbands
and salt. Husband floats in most bodies
of water, except for Lake Michigan, in
which he sinks. Husband flew to this
country, used a motor boat in the shape
of a swan when his arms got tired.
Husband has feathers for hair, slight
webbing between his fingers and
toes. Husband used to be
something else, something low and
scaley, but husband tried to reform.
Husband has teeth the size of
shoeboxes. When he kisses me
it hurts, a little.
I'm not sure about the title. I was also thinking, Swollen Angel. Got a couple rejections this week, one from the New Yorker. I think it's a good sign that now when I get rejected all I think is "great! now I can send these out to another place," rather than, "yes, I do suck ass, you're right."