Lisa Ciccarello


At night:

only: dimming. This is possible. Fan of feathers a clue to nothing. I tear down into the ground. Open over open: let me breathe for you/I am holding my breath. An empty thing can not reflect light. There is nothing to see. That is why it's dark. In the raid we turned out every pot of water & every vase. We cut the candles at their base & some bled out as a precaution. She a tongue full of needles 'tween the teeth her word is blood. Wax: wronged. Nothing hurts. That is why it is dark. A light makes a hole in the dark so I can make a dark hole in the light. This is how a shadow works. I make a shape with my hand.

Lisa Ciccarello's poems have appeared in Glitterpony, elimae, & Thirteen Myna Birds & are forthcoming from Anti-, Mud Luscious, Word Riot, Robot Melon & Dogzplot. She also has two chapbooks coming soon from Scantily Clad Press & Blood Pudding Press. She received her MFA from the University of Arizona where she was a poetry editor at the Sonora Review & now loves her little writing life in Portland, OR.

 
 
 
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