Consider this my letter of resignation.
I have collapsed semi-prone into
resting
orbitals of a runny yolk disposition
I never asked for. This
complete neglect in finding hard
targets.
What else do you want
me to explain? Every meal I eat
alone is severance
is rice-hydrate, irreversible. Already
mid-month by the windowsill I remain
non-fixed
hyperproductive still life overgrown.
Can I
protest what I see sprouted out from
sunstruck skin. I
won’t dress-up
part-time. My next steps
slow brimming, brush
slack -jawed. I don’t
even have
to think
to get
this
right.
This poem first
appeared in Sine Theta Mag
Emily Lu earned her B.Sc. at the University of
Toronto and her M.D. at Queen’s University. Currently completing her
postgraduate training in psychiatry, she lives in London, Ontario. Night Leaves Nothing New (Baseline Press) is her first chapbook.
The Tuesday
poem is curated by rob mclennan
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