Cathexis Northwest Press

© 2018 

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Ritual; over; Grilled Swordfish with Mango Chutney


Were I to meet you

in a high school classroom

and transform your flesh 

into tiny plastic cubes,


could I finally forgive you?


Would your gelatin shadow

cast near the window

be so beautiful

that I begin to thaw? 


And the satisfying geometrical clack

of your mouth falling loose 

and skittering across the floor:

a redemption? A balm?


Is this a killing?




But you are so much

lovelier like this: 

translucent and 



And anyway, 

I can’t sleep 

when you’re in

human form.



we aim our answers over our ears,

roar in vain in our room.


we mirror air now-

we rein in rain: no ore

in our mine, no seams.


see our wares?




a murmur in our ears:

never or soon.


one sore, serious noon, our veins move.

mine scream,


name me. rouse me and answer me.


Grilled Swordfish with Mango Chutney


We glance at each other

 across this little crouton canoe, 

avert our gaze. 


Your unsaid thoughts shriek 

across my skin like lizards.

Poultice of watercress and black pepper. 


I re-fill our glasses. 


Millimeters of back-flesh, flicked from a

paintbrush, your liver caught in a fishhook. 


I carry away the plates. 

Meara Levezow is a queer poet from Sheboygan, Wisconsin living in Brooklyn. Her work has appeared or is forthcoming in Bluestem Magazine, Sand Hills Literary Magazine, and The Toho Journal. She has worked in restaurants for over twenty years.