Livid, chauvinist, anomoly

by christycelia

April 4th

1. Discolored

2. My volcano erupted this morning.
You wouldn’t have known
had you peered up
at my second story window —
I stood in front of
the light while it
began to explode.
But you wouldn’t have
known, had you peered.

3. The bruise on my leg
has either
been there for months
the exact same spot
(back of my thigh
just out of sight enough
to forget)
keeps harboring the
blue circle.

4. After the eruption, I
looked around
at my space
I didn’t recognize it
any longer.
It looked exactly
as it was
but I couldn’t put my
finger on what had changed.
I took off my glasses.

5. The cast away cigarette butts
will soon emerge
after the snow
and we won’t be able to tell
the difference between
frozen water puffs
and piles of little white
stamped with camel.

6. This whole experience would have been better
in iambic pentameter
I thought
as I gathered up the bits of
smooshed pennies and
German buttons.
What was the volcano?
Did the animals flee?
Did my mind become lava?
I began to gather
what was left of my psyche.

7. Days like anomalies.
Monotonies of anomalies.
At least we are kept on our toes
as we go through the motions.

8. The fire burned for some time
that day. It was methodological
and somber. And no one saw,
as deep as they looked.
I could feel it sustaining
The ash smoldering my bones
My hairs retreating into
singed disappearances.