as if anything could be, more important than desire by Panika M.C. Dillon

 

You shield light under the door with a blank
ette. Night nuzzles as a lamb might: skull cupped
under your palm, head raised to bray. Stroke your nape,
too. Silence the hmm… radiators make of your teeth. Turn
up the stereo and sing insomnia to yourself. Spin
sick into a pile of dirty. Dance with my forgotten
coat or nightmare. Spin sickly into a laundry
basket. Pad the walls
with sheets to keep the music from the neighbors. Break
baskets: batter them like eggshells.
Eggshells to carpet to floor boards—write it color, write it
design. Thrashed, wickered—this is how grass is
supposed to grow. Grass between toes—there to field
the sun. Your feet do not know the word
callus. Grass between toes—kick day through the space between two
bed posts: they always want to stand
like a goal, a challenge. Keep the music
or the neighbors from shuffle. Cut them into paper dolls
that fall: a deck
of cards. In the face of dare, you
cannot muster enough strength to lie.

 

 

 

Panika M. C. Dillon received her MFA in creative-writing poetry from Sarah Lawrence College. Her work has recently appeared in Heavy Feather Review, Poets&Artists, Keep This Bag Away from Children and others. She lives and works as a political organizer in Central Texas.

 



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