By: Meara Levezow
Ritual
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?
Perhaps.
But you are so much
lovelier like this:
translucent and
inanimate.
And anyway,
I can’t sleep
when you’re in
human form.
over
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?
eerie.
mean.
a murmur in our ears:
never or soon.
one sore, serious noon, our veins move.
mine scream,
name me. rouse me and answer me.
occur.
Grilled Swordfish with Mango Chutney
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