if a body is bound

Kristen Renee Miller

i. if a body is bound

—yet is not a book
(weird inner stringing)
call it hate, sprung
from under sodden, salten
fear, a kind of failure
open, given

one’s best hid under,
working, see—
I’m dust and full of sight


ii. if a body is bound

—but you’re here on invitation
dear, so we decorate
and minister

embitter these
in greater numbers, O—
behind this roar, a door

binary be shade again
send in the gradient


iii. if a body is bound

—I’m right to object
to die of wonder
creating under unseen welts
and trending sins

a sister dies—
her object was
a little darkness
not a book
not in the usual sense

Kristen Renee Miller is a poet, playwright, and translator living in Louisville, Kentucky. Her work has appeared or is forthcoming in Guernica, Tupelo Quarterly, Tinderbox Poetry Journal, and elsewhere, and she has received awards from the Kennedy Center American College Theater Festival and the Humana Festival of New American Plays. She is an editor and director of educational programming at Sarabande Books.

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