***
EMILY AS THE PARACHUTE DESCENDED WITHOUT A
BODY
There are some lists
that need to be
burned
before we can believe
that gravity isn’t
just
a possibility. I gave up
a soul without
knowing
if it was mine. I tasted
all of the
cranberries
before I spit them
out.
I looked up at the
sky
to watch the fabric
drape
the blue momentarily
& I assumed
(still do)
that the hand that
held
mine was Emily’s.
***
EMILY AS A SONG WRITTEN BY HAZEL ENGLISH
We asked for the
pause
of the Technicolor
so our blood could
spin
with a firm reality
& the fog, the
fog came
all on its own. We left
Ohio so we could
leave
Ohio. That cost us
our hips. We still tingle
for the full words,
but all this driving
has become addicting.
***
EMILY AS SHE SUGGESTS THAT SHE MIGHT LIKE TO
BECOME MORE LIKE THE EMILY IN THESE POEMS
I want to hit you,
Emily said, I’ve
never hit anyone
before. I agreed
to this lone spasm
of violence, because
I have
dedicated myself
to cataloging her
spasms,
to inventing her
spasms, to fiction-
alizing her spasms in
a way
that leads to her
tasting them,
poorly. She spits at me
a lot. I have some regrets.