Autoimmune

by
May 2022, no. 442

Autoimmune

by
May 2022, no. 442

After Double Portrait by Dora Maar

 

I have two eyes and almost two noses
The lips of one face curve to meet my second
Neither of them look straight ahead.

Half of me aches and swells
The other half is perfect. I am given exercises
In blind repetition to pursue symmetry.

Striate ligament and feel this
Disease belt through me. Flamed nation
The water is only your own, so bathe.

Lying palms up while he presses down
I imagine this gooseneck of mine
As hypertufa brittle, ready to snap.

Walk in a park. Mute bell flowers
Little Carrara statues hang themselves over
Botanical beds. All I want is to be reeled in

From dangerous poses. Saved from cracked marble
My hands scratched red now
Sutured to goodness. Daring darling flower. Like girls hung

From monkey bars, everything might fall
Out of them coins all. Warn off, cut down
My contingencies. Watching the mirror

I am so faithful to this repetition. Yet I cannot stop
hanging myself in metaphor. The one side of me swells and aches.
I lift my muscles and do what I’m told.

From the New Issue

Comment (1)

  • Beautiful Kate
    Posted by Emily B
    02 May 2022

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