Jill Khoury
depakote
a gram every night and my outlook is much more shocking
pink / now that i can't rise from the bed / my tshirt says
romantic detonation / on friday a lavender hair'd girl painted
these cartoon stars bursting from the corners of my eyes
and now they are smudged // twelve hours left on the lease
the friends peel boxes from a stack against the wall / the tape
wheel screeches like a viper / i slink to the kitchen for water
and then to the shower / the tub is glossy sublime and slick /
i let the shower rain on my many hollows / pretend at drowning
or being liberated into interdimensional grotto
ELEMENTARY SCHOOL INTERVIEW
Honey you are such an inspiration
Suit woman bends to me I can smell her powder
We have another little girl like you
So brave She crawled
up the steps to class before we had an elevator
I forget her name
Maybe the two of you can be friends
She touches me I have learned that when an adult touches it is not always good
In the parking lot my mother hugs me I smell her Coppertone & feel her sunglasses
push against my face I want to return to the sundrenched patio where we will
"bake" she kisses my cheek
I love you My princess you did so well
You're getting so big &nbp;so independent
fold
drunk auburn mustache
drawls there's no way
you can be blind
the teeth on him glitter
so i fold
like a velvet gloxinia
tuck in pelvis
collapse a pale
thin wrist
thrust
the white cane
into my bag
deepest pocket
Jill Khoury writes on gender, disability, and embodied identity. She holds an MFA from The Ohio State University and edits Rogue
Agent, a journal that features poetry and art of the body. She has written two chapbooks—Borrowed Bodies (Pudding House, 2009)
and Chance Operations (Paper Nautilus, 2016). Her debut full-length collection, Suites for the Modern Dancer,
was released in 2016 from Sundress Publications. Find her at jillkhoury.
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