the poet holding a stick of dynamite
i am tom. jerry is anything -- joy, grief, my
mother, the cardinal -- that runs into the wall as soon as i spot it. the poems
are the ensuing chase, the intricate booby traps i spend hours constructing --
paying more mind to how pillow feathers look in the light than the fact that my
tar vat is perfectly cat-sized -- and the drafts are what i break in the
process: vases, doors, legs (always mine). but. even though i spend every
waking hour sprinting, slinking, and scheming how better to sprintslink, i don’t
really want to catch jerry. he’s my
friend; we love to run together. it keeps us fit. it keeps us wanting.
émilie kneifel is a
sick fish, goo fish, they fish, blue fish (poet, critic, editor, and co-creator
of PLAYD8s). find 'em at emiliekneifel.com, @emiliekneifel, and in Tiohtiáke,
hopping and hoping.
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