She writes, “implacable these gods” and checks
her shoulder for an angel, if he were
there, he might say how to bring herself around to less
confusion: instead, alone, she churns
“no one ever told me how I ought to think
of freedom: whether it might mean:
a sort of wryness to impediment…” & trails off: scribbles ink
& wants to be unseen
cincture / suture / callow
she slivers off a smaller self to set in ink
a set of anxious sonnets: her hands swallow
themselves in repetition: reality winks:
a word has no god: she cuts her arms to bits:
& tries to clean her brain with spit.
Evelynn Black received her MFA from Cornell University. Her poems have appeared in Requited, Peculiars Magazine, and The Seattle Review. She lives in Seattle and is at work on a book about light, and a book about schizophrenia.