The Best American Poetry 2013
“The victim’s one trick: to keel over. The cooling skin expels foul smells, teeth clench, eyes glaze, the heart sustains a sluggish thump. What’s outside can’t revive the creature; it feels nothing, though alive, paralyzed while the predator remains.
Waiting in the closet behind my mother’s dresses, scent of hyacinth, I transmute— mouth pressed in the wool of her one good suit— into a speechless, frozen thing. The others call me from far away, but I am fixed right here. As if these shadows have cast doubt across my way of seeing.
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