by Kirsten Dierking
For a short time after
the rape, I found I could
move things. Energy birds
swarmed from my brain.
With a witch's sense
of abandoned physics,
I set dolls rolling.
Back and forth. Like a
breathing sound.
Using only my night-powered
eyes, I pushed the lamp
to the dresser's edge.
I buried the mirrors
in avalanches of freshly
laundered underpants.
I never slept.
I did all these things
lying down.
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