PARABLE OF SENSITIVE SKIN | MEG FRANKLIN


With water, glycerin and some cinnamon cyanide,  		
I saw her hex the pet in her tummy. 
I saw my own Papa’s tear, dime-size
and cone-like, sear his alcohol.  
It panted then on the stark aluminum
and, once succinct, polished the lean metal. 
Laurel tried to pry and lick any caprice;
God, as of late, has ceased to be her alcohol. 
She set real glue to adhere herself to Michael. 
In it, animals will smother like tin. 
My government sister, coming to our home, 
appeared as a lovely hunchback 
under a tinker’s wagon load. 
And the parable says, “You can die if you do Meth.” 
This sod she would have me enter reeks of acid,
though, for a century, her spoon has stirred 
the barbarian aloe and leaf juice. 
In the tainted sorbet, I would come, only to expire.  
But I’ve journeyed aidless, she knows,  
through a land of nine pearls, serene in its largess. 
She’s laid the sign of acid and the glue of Michael
and the parable of Meth all propped beside what has been. 
See, when she was twelve or thirteen, 
Laurel’s parents hid from God, 
and she found them. 
She saw their sallow clasp beneath the rocks. 



Meg Franklin translated “Parable of Sensitive Skin” from the ingredients list on a bottle of lotion. She is a recent graduate of the MFA program in creative writing at the University of Florida. 
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COMMENTARY | POETRY | FICTION | SUMMER 2008  
THE BOBOLINIS
 S.L. WISENBERG

HARD
JOHN M. ANDERSON

SEICHE
JOSEPH DROGOS

PARABLE OF SENSITIVE SKIN 
MEG FRANKLIN

ALONE IN PARIS
SUSAN ANDERSON

BEGINNINGS
EDWARD MC WHINNEY

SEAMUS, THEN
J.M. PATRICK

WILL DEIRDRE BEAT THE ODDS?
A.S. KING

INSTEAD OF WHAT WE COULD HAVE SAID
VINCENT REUSCH


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