disconnected. The way the leg
tears away from a rotisserie chicken,
easily. Cartilage pops and gives up.
Without much sound or resistance,
the joint just snaps.
Thumbs stick under ribs, remove
flesh from bone,
skin from flesh,
wings from breast.
Recently nominated for two Pushcart prizes, April Salzano teaches college writing in Pennsylvania where she lives with her husband and two sons. She is currently working on a memoir on raising a child with autism and several collections of poetry. Her work has appeared in journals such as Convergence, Ascent Aspirations, The Camel Saloon, Centrifugal Eye, Deadsnakes, Visceral Uterus, Salome, Poetry Quarterly, Writing Tomorrow and Rattle. The author also serves as co-editor at Kind of a Hurricane Press (www.kindofahurricanepress.com).