History is how we’re tethered to certain
stretches of land. The minute you’re kissed
or punched, you and that place own each other.
Sometimes I want to wipe a small town off
my face. I want to be so Old Testament I get
to choose my own plagues. I’ve been resident
at this address longer than anywhere else,
the mess is how I know it’s okay to breathe.
When biological defenses outpace our common
sense, the result is fear. Everything heightened
by the need to cut things open. Blood means
rebirth and the sharpest blades. When opening
this bible you’ll find the Gospel of Mutilations,
in which dismemberments turn into a holiday
dance. I know the graphic violence is hard to
take, but at least hang on through the blizzard.
© Variant Literature Inc 2021