The World Was Never Soft Like a Mouth

In the dream the second body dies. 

The fear wedges deep like disassembled clocks. 

Later the work of momentum. 

A single swan sits folded. 

This has all already happened. 

My stomach hard and raised like a wide view

of the mountains or a disposal center overflowing.

The second body continues to float. 

I write I’m sorry on postcards. 

When the babies appear it is my job to count

their miniature teeth. How do they already have teeth?

I want to ask but each nurse 

is a mannequin in a sequin bridesmaid dress. 

In the other dream I lose my fingers.

My hands become hard knots of red feathers.

Sand punctures bright inside my shoes. 

Carrie Bennett is a Massachusetts Cultural Council Artist Fellow and author of biography of water, The Land Is a Painted Thing, and several chapbooks from dancing girl press. Her third book, Lost Letters and Other Animals,will be published by Black Lawrence Press in early 2021. Her poems have appeared in numerous journals including Boston ReviewCaketrainDenver Quarterly, and jubilat. She holds an MFA from the Iowa Writers’ Workshop and currently teaches writing at Boston University. She lives with her husband and daughter in Somerville, MA.

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