Monday, March 7, 2016

Angel Zapata


Let me dig the blade
a little deeper, wiggle
‘round the flesh and bone.

Went to med school,
assisted in autopsies.
Like a bucket down a well

surprises us with water,
the coroner trawled through
open chest depths, hooked

her ladle between the ribs.
Witnessed her Ginsu a man's
tongue, fan the red ribbons

like a deck of cards: Pick a card,
any card. Men foolishly pursue
the aces, but women learn

to draw the heart out, slowly.
I had to know he stopped
seeing the bitch. All the private

dicks in the world can't cut so
clear a truth. I knew I'd reach it—
there!— just beneath his skin.

Gerald So reads "The Insider":

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Angel confesses: "It's another time that eavesdropping sparks inspiration. I heard two women talking and one said to the other, 'I wish I could get inside of him and see what he's hiding from me.' And I was like, 'Yeah, let's do that.'"

ANGEL ZAPATA calls Augusta, Georgia his home. Born and raised in New York City, his award-winning fiction and poetry is a conglomeration of street smarts and Southern charm. He's authored a crime thriller novelette, literary and genre short story collections, and two poetry chapbooks. When he was a kid, creepy shadow people would stand by his bed and watch him sleep. Now he stands by their beds.

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