Imperatives

Send us your best ephemera, your mouse bones, your numbers seventeen, your wrap-around boyfriend wrapped around that other girl, the sweater he left at your house, make it sing, that sweater, make it recall the single glass of water you wanted but never got, when there was still hope for water, send us the time you yelled HALT to your son as he approached the bed with chocolate on his hands, the time you fell asleep thinking how that was a metaphor for the human need to classify and divide, the human belief in walls, which aren’t walls at all, since everything, if you think about it, touches everything else, submit that other time, when you still held faith in limits, not liminalities, send us your spaces, open and digital, crunching someone else’s numbers, a Pop tart between the teeth, the lone cricket leg on the bathroom floor, your pregnancy round as a harvest moon shedding light on a corn field full of your engaging ghost, your empty host, your very best, which will be certified upon arrival, sent back unopened, unafraid, left for dead, and pure.

Advertisements

About evanduyne

I'm assistant professor of writing at Stockton University, where I'm also affiliated faculty in the Women's, Gender, and Sexuality Studies program. I work on Sylvia Plath, contingent faculty, and creative writing around trauma and domestic violence.
This entry was posted in Uncategorized. Bookmark the permalink.

One Response to Imperatives

  1. Teresa says:

    I don’t know if you got FB responses to this, but it is delightful & I hope it emerges from the ether for others periodically also.

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s