|Arsenic Lobster poetry journal||
after Nicoletta Ceccoli
It’s off with my head again, pear-
shaped light bulb, hung beside
the bed, a strange black egg.
My art, the unmaking of things.
Walls unhinge. Doorways rattle.
Once, I wore a circus animal
and ate the entire audience. Crows
for hair, I flew away, escaping
the cage. Twice, I’ve spurted wire,
twining my ankles, twisting my hands.
Spoons for eyes, I watched
the soup, my body, a loaf urgent
for soaking. Nights I stay hungry like this,
one hundred years. A red terror, a little girl’s
smock. In situ, I cannot crack—
there might be blood in the yolk.
About Jennifer Givhan