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Locker-room truant in a locked stall
                     Through study hall
             Hiding, hand-stifling her cries,

A girl wide-eyes the unimagined smear
                     Of blood rusting
             Her fingertips. Secret, quaint horror.

Some betrayal of the flesh has left her
             Her blithe pellmell

Redefining to this singularity. But no.
                     She is smarter
             Than her body. She will starve

This woman out, she will run and outrun
                     The turncoat moon.
             She will firesale down

To a shoestring inventory: item:
                     Two eyes, indifferent
             Blue; item: brain and brainstem;

Item: one mouth, tightened like a screwcap
                     On the business end
             Of the pipebomb she's just become.

Kimberly Johnson

The Kenyon Review

January / February 2017

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