<\/p>\n
I am trying to research trying
\nto add to my drawer filled with fabric scraps high
\nup on a chain with no more room
\nthe wood magnetizes
\nsome paper sticks to it<\/p>\n
It\u2019s sealed with time only I know
\nhow to open with crowbars and impact
\nfrom a high height
\nfucking a boy who can love
\nto read me aloud again incorrectly<\/p>\n
I deal in crises with my equivalents
\nfor tears this is something different some sandpaper
\nto take to the box and play the long game like sawdust
\nin my lungs secondhand smoke mixing with air
\nonly when someone breathes me<\/p>\n
the privacy of being entered<\/em><\/p>\n I do not borrow *<\/p>\n Davide says we\u2019re in a narratocracy If I tell you the story I\u2019ll ruin it;<\/p>\n I don\u2019t remember this story to tell it, if it\u2019s a story.<\/p>\n You’ve learned at least this much without a proper sequence: how a child chooses a form<\/p>\n but only after is told what his options were.<\/p>\n<\/div>\n Think of a room to remind yourself which chair was what shade of blue<\/p>\n but where you\u2019re never sure someone hasn\u2019t repainted it<\/p>\n in the meantime. at this child\u2019s eye-level, in which to hide.<\/p>\n There is no story here, only movement, only you *<\/p>\n (3\/8) A doll from a field, green wild grass and small yellow wildflowers, red-haired, two-dimensional. She arrives in pieces, fabric, cotton puffs, yarn, thread. Grandmother spins a figure, could be anyone’s, makes a dress, becomes of this a small-mouthed favorite who keeps losing her wig in the tussle.<\/p>\n (5&6\/8) For a time, child wants a doll to be as he might one day. One doll had limited options, ends up sparkling ever since in a skirt bought for a new year\u2019s party long after the year has begun, next to a closet full of what child wants to wear, what he buys for her but never wants to see her happy in. The other doll is sent off for with a photograph. It returns turned eighteen inches with rounder cheeks and an ugly maroon sweater, not enough fantasy, all pained reminders of proximity. The tallest and unmoved, she watches over the other dolls from her reliable corner.<\/p>\n [A doll that was wanted, but thirty-eight inches do not fit on the shelf behind the door never slid away. A crinoline, a crown. Child would not have looked like her anyway. Mother says, “wanted her desperately.”]<\/p>\n (4\/8) Rose, flower-named, lost in an imagination. She rides a horse, attends a masquerade ball. Though child will do these things in time they will be less glamorous. Rose comes with a key to lock up the attic, keep the imagination inside and alone. It cannot even make its way down to the landing.<\/p>\n (8\/8) The last of the dolls, a blue mermaid beaches too late and stranded. The tide has gone out, and out, and out, and out. The pouch of small shells trembles shyly beside the transparent globe, the gold-backed hand mirror. It is the only token to have touched a doll and been displayed.<\/p>\n (1\/8) A teddy bear, a first doll, a boy and the only one.<\/p>\n<\/div>\n <\/p>\n *<\/p>\n Tulle and taffeta rust, left alone. <\/p>\n <\/p>\n S. Brook Corfman is a poet who writes plays, living in a turret in Pittsburgh. A recipient of fellowships from Lambda Literary and the University of Pittsburgh who has also been published as Sam Corfman, work has appeared or will soon in Phantom<\/em>, Prelude<\/em>, Ghost Proposal<\/em>, Winter Tangerine<\/em>, and OmniVerse<\/em>, among other places.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":" From “Luxury, Blue Lace”<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":2,"featured_media":442,"comment_status":"closed","ping_status":"closed","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":[],"categories":[33],"tags":[],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/thespectacle.wustl.edu\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/429"}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/thespectacle.wustl.edu\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/thespectacle.wustl.edu\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/thespectacle.wustl.edu\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/users\/2"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/thespectacle.wustl.edu\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fcomments&post=429"}],"version-history":[{"count":0,"href":"https:\/\/thespectacle.wustl.edu\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/429\/revisions"}],"wp:featuredmedia":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/thespectacle.wustl.edu\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/media\/442"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/thespectacle.wustl.edu\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fmedia&parent=429"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/thespectacle.wustl.edu\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fcategories&post=429"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/thespectacle.wustl.edu\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Ftags&post=429"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}
\nbecause I will always return and sadly
\nI will knock to be let in
\nwhile I wait pluck that scrap
\nof purple gauze its drift<\/p>\n<\/div>\n
\nand I\u2019m inclined to agree.<\/p>\n
\na young child, desperation, a twin brother,<\/p>\n
\ngot to but the soul
\ngot to choose<\/em><\/div>\n
\nDoes it take a narrative, a losing
\nof some things so others might be legible?It takes.<\/p>\n
\nyou can move around in, that you might return to<\/p>\n
\nSometimes there\u2019s a smaller room in the wall<\/p>\n
\nmoving, only moving
\naway.<\/p>\n<\/div>\n
\nEven on land they attract sharks.
\nDear one, rags are unbecoming
\nunless you want them there. Tell me
\nhow to read them like the dregs
\nof everyday earl grey, how to find
\nthat soloist’s fouett\u00e9 in the scraps.<\/p>\n<\/div>\n
\n
\n