Let’s Say We Didn’t, Tragically,

Kara Dorris

cut through the ivory peonies

to the paved street,

throw up or snort out tequila between

the 5th & 6th floors of the Hilton

Hotel, slow fall to knees

reabsorbing liquid strength, drink

sunrises to be touched, wake

beneath monsters then drive

for ice cream, dissolve inevitability

with our mouths, fail to invent

halo rules on the field, be relieved —

I’m pregnant, I miscarried — lay down

& take it, pretend to want when

we wanted nothing but

the clear weight of water minus

the weight of ourselves, a song

of leviathans & sleep, that mysterious

Atlantis that is not merely a release

from suffering, but from resistance,

so resistance is nothing but a haunt, the razor

wings on thighs, the wallpaper imprint

on cheek, angel-hair fractures of

the not-healed-quite-right, because no one

heals right, not right away, maybe never,

all uninsured, pre-existing conditions,

little pyro fanatics & bits of ember,

football gear & offensive positions.


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