PERSONA

I have a cheerful one, a placid one, unremarkable, with small pink lips but Kali

of the bloody tongue, Kali festooned with screaming skulls trembles here, behind this matron’s mask.

Any moment her blueblack arms might emerge from my polyester shirt and throttle that man sipping his tea. She

may jump onto the counter and fling saucers and cups, split through my skin, bite heads and crunch down bones, break the door, smash the steps, dance her pounding dance down the crackling road. Meantime,

I drink coffee through my small polite mouth hole, hold my cup in one beige hand.

Some days the coffee tastes like blood.

Our shriek could shatter all the glasses in this town.