425 Readings | 3 Ratings

Dear Reader–

I miss the smell of my skinned knee the summer
I pulled my whole self alone under the covers
and willed it to heal. By it I mean insert
unclear antecedent here
, by here
I mean there, by there I mean above but
also of course inside, as in my inside
voice, which is the voice I use when you’re sleeping
so as not to wake you from slumber's muted
palette into the day’s oh-so-color,
or rather, the voice I use when I pretend
you’re here with me and you and I just had
a fight over whether art matters and you make
like your finger’s a dagger you pull across
your throat to end it all and I make like
my pointer’s a barrel and my middle’s a trigger
and I hold the weapon up to my temple and fire
complete with kickback and brain-blast action
as illustrated by my other hand’s explosion
and you gag louder; I thought I can’t put that in here,
meaning my knee, my poem, but then your voice
in my head said that’s what she said, and I knew
that we were still in this together and that I could
never have shared this with anyone but you.
Posted 02/05/13
"Dear Reader" was first published in WHISKEY ISLAND.
Books by Dora Malech
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