Christine Scanlon

CREATING A BACKSTORY

Love—he told me—now is the time

your face should be joined

by another.

Face. Body. Host. Stranger.

Me over and over.

He, always by the book

found purpose in it—a fathered figure.

& while I was tweaking—before

my medicine kicked. To help forget

what is real—

I knew to avoid

to excess, maybe, being pulled

into his little square of light.

Preserving—it might turn out—my most

interesting parts. Fierce with burning

& great swells

under my eyes distended

by tidal emotions

— I wade in.

UNFINISHED MYSTERIES

Miracle. Muck.

Machinations of the mess.

Our mistake

in choosing. We stopped

each other from moving.

With mild swearing, may I

take another bite out of you?

Because of my sweet-tooth.

A mausoleum or museum

our life from the inside

mobbed

but we keep

sashaying through.

Christine Scanlon has a poetry collection, A Hat on the Bed (Barrow Street Press). Other poems have appeared in, among other publications, littletell, Dream Pop Press,Flag + Void, and YES Poetry.