By Casey Lyons
12/17/2009
Fourteen Months
and still you chase me in circles.
The violence you brought forth
reverberates like a note
my inner ear keeps hearing.
Fourteen months,
and still you disrupt my sleep.
You hang around unwelcome
in the space behind my eyes.
I dreamed some weeks ago
that you confessed,
repented,
and I dreamed last night that you’d been framed.
But my waking wish
is that all my memories of you
were in my appendix,
so I could cut them out with a blade.
Instead they’re in my uterus,
waxing and waning,
part of my circadian rhythm,
and I cannot bleed them away.
Casey Lyons is a queer feminist poet from Kentucky and has worked with a variety of GLBT organizations there.