nice dystopia

Helen Lehndorf

each morning, a small, hot boy clings to me, tired from his night terrors

at first light

he is a glass-bottomed boat                    

all open         no mystery

at our circus             all the sideshows have come crashing down

we’ve been voted off the island               the tribe has spoken

we’re sick animals, chewing on grass to soothe our stomachs,

a green froth at the corners of our mouths

all we can trust is bodies and the body’s ways of telling

i am giving it all my strong, the boy says

shows us grit can be gift

shows us the long length of a short shrift

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