Denise Jarrott


and I begin again: I am many persons.

and I multiply each crown by the strength of my patience.

and I will one day kiss every cluster that rings the house, mark me

and I will speak no words, but there will nevertheless be my body, a wax mould

as it always was.                      I am supine at the edge of a window. I am spreading

a palm upwind.                        All inert, ignorant to the inlay under my feet: tender

as skin, as I begin                    again.            tender as I came again to the house I rang

a bell and was beckoned in.    I ask you:       would you have returned the same, having

apprehended such a face?                  would you have breathed, ate, walked to and

from, a little disc of gold
under your tongue?                 Am I fool for

refusing to speak of it?                                  An invitation:                          please come.

Denise JarrottDenise Jarrott grew up in Iowa. Her work has appeared or is forthcoming in Bat City Review, CutBank, The Volta, Burnside Review, LVNG, Poor Claudia and elsewhere. She lives in Colorado.

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