I am an amputated arm – trying to accept my body’s state of mind
after four hours of spasms
I went to work wearing your watch
thinking that it would hold me
closer to my body
no one noticed the ticking
I raised the mug to my mouth
but still didn’t have one
I pretended that I had lungs to
breathe in and breathe out to be
in the moment not worried
about my physical state
it didn’t last
I am an amputated arm – a vocal discord
8pm and I can’t read this
can’t read anything about
ships can’t listen to song
lyrics I am awake and I am asleep
the doctor says it doesn’t sound
like a nightmare a house by the sea
awake aware at the edges
I can see you will never hear
my voice again
I am amputated by centrifugal force
I can’t tell if these faces
are repulsive or attractive
dark rain runs down
the backlit features
my body has disappeared
radiated away in black ink
on a map time spinning—
I don’t recognize these faces
what is the color of light when you
time travel? birds fall from the sky
feet pad through the forest this is static
running a camera focused on the back
the wrong date in newspaper print
I don’t know when I am anymore
something remains behind that cannot be—
severed
Jayme Russell is the author of two chapbooks: PINKification (Dancing Girl Press, 2017) and PINKpoems (Adjunct Press, 2017). Her writing can also be found in Black Warrior Review, Diagram, Fairy Tale Review, and elsewhere. She received her M.A. in Poetry from Ohio University and her MFA in Poetry from The University of Notre Dame.
BURNING HOUSE PRESS 