Winterhospital

By DAWN TEFFT

the window is freezing into a lake

and nothing on its surface has vertebrae

I want my oily feathers back

the smell of tin-foil eyes

and catfish bones

 

underneath my skin, everything’s packed

and the day flakes like stream-caught salmon

 

underneath these ceilings, lysol gutters my dreams

turns to vodka        powdered guilt

 

underneath this sheet

pick it up–        the ice        the mentholated everywhere

 

ruin it

 

make it go August-fast

 

 

Dawn Tefft’s poems have appeared in Witness, Fourteen Hills, Sentence, and Court Green, among other journals.

Photo by Flickr Creative Commons user David Breizh

Winterhospital

Related Posts

Pine tree at sunset

July on South St. (AEAE)

NICK MAIONE
I open the doors and windows and shut off the lights./ For a while I play tunes on the fiddle / shirtless in my dark house. I love doing this. / For the first time all day I am not at home. / For the first time since the last time / my body is the same size as my flesh.

On Halloween

VASYL LOZYNSKY
I feel greedy, I have a frog in my throat because of this / expensive beer. I start to ask around, like a detective, / and immediately get some info / from the writer sitting at our table nearby, / whom I got to know just now. / The house of Ashbery has likely mahogany doors...

Image of eyes up close.

Amblyopia

ANANDA LIMA
I close my right eye meu olho direito / and see everything tudo que / my mother my father meus pais no meu país / didn’t / know não sabiam / to do tudo / then que fazer? / e hoje, minha vista cansada / not a matter of laziness / the doctor says / it’s more mais mas / of a suppression