Do not) tell me I am
a bright-eyed child
I will (not) reply.
I am monstrous
I am macabre
I am leviathan
On the mornings I wake,
I take a wrench to my teeth
& my three-pronged tongue
dances through shark-tooth dentures—
a nerodia cyclopion through lilies
my tree trunk thighs clap:
boom boom
held up by knobbly feet and gnarled toes,
squashing dwarfs and giddy goblins
wind washes my dirt-crusted scales
and
Ethereal fingers quell
my spindly hair
to uncloak
two ceaseless Black Holes
that will scour
scrutinize
probe
you
to prove
what i am (not)
—Sara Gannon
This article appears in September 2016.
