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.