Cecilia Stuart — Mine

Poem author and title: Cecilia Stuart — Mine Poem: It’s my homage, not yours. My flint, or my sour brine. If I opt for guiled hatred it’s my own fatal blow, and of course I flaunt it as it squirms. Or I trace the frame of it, but it never stays for long. When there’s nothing left, I reverse down the alley throwing garbage out the side. Unless my dreams are scant or shapeless I don’t need to be astonished. I’ll think of them in softer lines. I cling to the contour, I want to be named. I want it to make sense, or at least I want to write it down. I need a language like atoms, so I’ll make one. The day pulls back and girds its ankles. The day now trembling and on fire. The day wishing to be sanctified but no one knowing how. I waded in the shallow pond but the pond was full of pond scum and the pond was just a storm drain. It said to say thank you or it said to trust no bitch. I peered down from above toying how to make it stay in place. How the lake could whistle still and streets so toothy when they eat. So beautiful a day, such bright and lovely light. Such a shame I’m stuck up here thinking about shapes. Instead of dredging my hands in the pool of cement, I ask to be here. Instead of form, I ask for one piece. I claim my row, my house, my brick of soap. My relentless clot of words. I didn’t want to but it shimmered as we spoke. I’ve never said too much, instead I’ll say enough. End of poem.  Copyright © Cecilia Stuart Originally appeared in Bad Dog Issue 1.2, July 2019. Cecilia Stuart’s work has been published in PRISM international, the Antigonish Review, the Temz Review, and elsewhere. Her chapbook Mudroom (a collaborative work with photography by Adrian Kiva) was published by Anchorage Press in 2018. She is based in Toronto and recently she has been trying to dance every day. BAD DOG is dedicated to unapologetic poetry—visceral, intelligent, and without restraint. www.bad-dog-review.com