Arsenic Lobster poetry journal |
Issue Thirty-one Spring 2013 |
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In Situ after Nicoletta Ceccoli Jennifer Givhan It’s off with my head again, pear- shaped light bulb, hung beside the bed, a strange black egg. My art, the unmaking of things. Walls unhinge. Doorways rattle. Once, I wore a circus animal and ate the entire audience. Crows for hair, I flew away, escaping the cage. Twice, I’ve spurted wire, twining my ankles, twisting my hands. Spoons for eyes, I watched the soup, my body, a loaf urgent for soaking. Nights I stay hungry like this, one hundred years. A red terror, a little girl’s smock. In situ, I cannot crack— there might be blood in the yolk. |
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