Or is it anticipation                 cut perverselySomething must happenDear ones, say you                 feel it tooParts of my body are blankIt’s not a wish but it’s also                 not CassandraI think about the word eraI’m working on ferocity                 and frankness:This poem failsHere an affect there                 an affectLet’s reclaim sadIs it foreboding if                 it’s factualOkay a little wishI think about the words                 period of my lifeIt’s an endurance actHer father dies and I keep                 wadingHe has to see the cardiologistI want to commit to the                 poem but I can’tI get cold and cultivate selfishnessShe says each generation is called                 a word in the poemI write patience in my notebookI wait for my period and drink                 a CoronaI try to make it a speech actHave I given myself permission                 to inhabit my bodyI think about the alien insideI think about the phrase                 unwanted advancesParts of our bodies are blankI put my fingers on                 your coronariesCome at me