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Poems by Erin Slaughter

When She Talks I Feel Like the Simulation Might Collapse and four other poems by Wes Civilz
June 27, 2018
Scratch by Michael Sams
June 29, 2018

Phantom Song: July

you start out somewhere & end

up in a strange bed listening to the moaning

in the walls, pretending there’s a trace

 

of hair-smell in the sheets

or that it could make you know him.

how to say thank you

 

for being gentle when my head is a great rock

lodged on distance’s shore & never known

kindness as anything more

 

than a leaky pure

the lived-in body can’t afford.

 

we hope valleys. we say nothing.

what a stir in the corner

of the eye what a heat-dark shadow.

 

fallow field, plowed & harrowed

but left unsown, unsung—

 

even somewhere else & very lonely I am singing you.

 

Phantom Song: June

glass on the gray coffee table & light came through it in three fragments

little glove, little empty handful of crow

 

was very much loving me then. hands velvet ghosts

coalescing in sleep. strips of white chiffon

placed over waves. when will I say

enough is. & not have it sound

 

like sadness flung against a mirror

 

if having had is present tense

imagining its past. this flippant proximity

 

its own bloodshadow sweetness. ripe red plum

 

for the sake of a plum, juice for the sake of lips 

 

Erin Slaughter is the author of two poetry chapbooks: Elegy for the Body (Slash Pine Press, 2017), and GIRLFIRE (dancing girl press, 2018). She holds an MFA from Western Kentucky University, and is editor and co-founder of literary journal The Hunger. You can find her writing in Another Chicago Magazine, Cosmonauts Avenue, Sundog Lit, Tishman Review, and elsewhere. She lives in Nashville.