by Eve Kenneally
At this point I owe you the phone. There was a wing in my cup
but I drank anyway. I could buy a sandwich & carry it around
like a hunting trophy, leave it in its bag for six hours in the North
American Mammals Room near the Osborn caribou. Don’t tell me
what a person can do. Another globed mouth opens & shuts, mistakes
one type of restlessness for the next. I wanted a different ending.
When you create something, you’ll consume it eventually. First: you
feed it. Then it feeds you. A pause is a fracture of itself. Soon it
won’t stand on its legs.
Eve Kenneally is a New York-based freelance writer and recent alumna of the MFA program at the University of Montana. Her chapbook "Something Else Entirely" was released in January 2017 by Dancing Girl Press. Her poems have appeared or are forthcoming in Salt Hill, Whiskey Island, Yemassee, Bop Dead City, decomP, Stirring, and elsewhere.