In the Tabloid:
There’s a man in
who eats glass
Really, I mean
to say there’s a
story about
a man in
up and tucked into
the breast
pocket of my coat
because I like
to think it’s a
love letter
and sometimes
when I forget
I had put it there
and my fingers
surprise upon
its edges
it is.
In the background
of this poem, a TV
special is
running about the art
of origami. Did you know
when you fold
paper you change its
memory?
One day
I told my twin, who I won't
be seeing much of soon,
about the man
who eats glass.
Does he shit vases?
she asked.
I think about picking
blackberries
and keeping them in
big hollow vases
If I fold
this poem into an
origami of glass-eater,
love-letter because
I’m frustrated and scared
by how the blackberries,
choked in their big
hollow vases, are
glorious and awful
like a first kiss,
I change the way it
remembers
me.
Not as a
person-but
as a piece of
glass the man
in
to eat.
Moriah Askenaizer, arist and poet, lives in New York City. See some of her artwork at: http://cargocollective.com/moriahaskenaizer
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