Sarah Escue


tilt of summer
face full of flies

my mind            unwinds
sheds                    as a serpent
my illness           can’t be held
can't bleed          but rather ripens
rots                       like speech                              

now the wind             
now shadowplay on pavement

i want a name
for everything—         why

my tongue         unhinges
pries     from the dry throats of strangers     sound                                              

i mispronounce my name
those simple syllables
but still re-         assemble this body
each mourning

perhaps i am stronger              than the ground           i was cut from





Check out The Empty Form Goes All the Way to Heaven by Brian Teare, Humanimal by Bhanu Kapil, and Gossamurmur by Anne Waldman. Brilliant collections by brilliant people.