Given
written upon the occasion of the wedding of flatchestedmama
to her art
by: Karen Finneyfrock

when they dust the earth from our twin headstones,
they will wonder if you were my son.
the same name embroidered into side-by-side cement,
no junior or second to distinguish us by.

what they could not know,
is that I birthed you from my own left temple,
a practice once reserved for gods.
that you came demanding to be named
like me,
babies come early sometimes
and not always whole,
you came silent until I beat you into crying,
swaddled you in sheet music,
fed you on my tears;
you night whisperer
secret girl

they will never understand,
the men who will sense you inside me will fear
you cancer,
concealed in my ribs and breasts
always climbing back inside then
demanding rebirth.

when they find ud
dying under a birch tree,
muttering lines of Frost to one another's delight,
you next to me in the grass so finally tangible,
they will hear our last song
and knowing then who you were,
and they will bury us
side-by-side,
with twin headstones.

Flatchestedmama says, I do
by: Maged Zaher

The river hides in the fire hydrant "I do, I do"
I'm off the market, the bus's
Next stop is wonderland:
Duchamp's fountain to the right
The space needle to the left
Now, listen!

The phone rings: "flatchestedmama married Van Gogh's ear"
The businessman said, first let there be money on earth
Wrap your thighs in foil
Ans tread on locked museums
Well, sir, the movies out here aren't as funny
As the furniture we bought with
Our pocket money
So fuck off for a hundred years or so

The rose is not a rose not a rose not a rose
The rose isn't my wedding gift either
Flatchestedmama married a fire-hydrant
And gave birth to three fortune cookies:
1- You'll meet a man in a painting and he will save you from his colors
2- The next day, you'll meet the painter and he will hide in his palatte
3- Next week, you reach wonderland,