Caroline Szpak

Pages: 1 2 3 4


A coin with a profile is one thing

I’ve never been given. An abbreviation

for how my lips don’t move is another

that always left me empty-handed.


I get out of bed with nothing

but the longest explanation.

Body the bareness of a busy signal

everyone has the same words for.


Who knows what really happens

to the throat when a coin keeps time

tight as footsteps in house arrest.


The morning is dedicated to undertow,

and houseplants, and telephones that never give

more words than you’ll need

to hear a voice shake.


Pages: 1 2 3 4

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