Fun House
       

Tonight I am getting smaller,
without chanting, my mouth
is gone like the moon wiped
off the horizon. I have one
arm. I have three heads. The
house clicks on its electronic
eye. My spine compacts like
a cat. My hair smears dirt off
my body. I fight myself sideways.
The house cordons me off.
An instinct splinters. The house
is looking for something left
behind. A scent. A snowy molar.
A reflection can be a manhunt.
Describe the last time you saw
her. Describe her erratic behavior.
Do you know how much a mirror
conceals. A thump. A crack. A sound
of unlatching. I am getting taller.
The rubber ache of organs stretched.
My brain shines like a lung. My hair
reaches out to the trees. I can see 360
degrees. A feeling of correct perspective.
Wispy membranes where I was going
to be. I bring you the terrible pieces.

Tweet

Copyright © 2016 Jennifer Willoughby All rights reserved
from Beautiful Zero
Milkweed Editions
Reprinted by Verse Daily® with permission