Mannequins of Ourselves
Vera Caldwell
I was like, I wanted
to say that I swallowed,
so I did, she says;
the power lines have fallen
down on the sidewalk,
copper ends narrowing sunlight
like a stare into our
eyes; the heat ashes
in the backs of our throats;
and now you’ve said it,
I say; I watch her check
how her jeans fit in
a car window, twisting herself
like a music box doll; we need
harder stuff now, she says,
we need real bruises.
to say that I swallowed,
so I did, she says;
the power lines have fallen
down on the sidewalk,
copper ends narrowing sunlight
like a stare into our
eyes; the heat ashes
in the backs of our throats;
and now you’ve said it,
I say; I watch her check
how her jeans fit in
a car window, twisting herself
like a music box doll; we need
harder stuff now, she says,
we need real bruises.
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Vera Caldwell (PO '26) has previously published poetry in Blue Marble and Parallax, as well as photography in Élan Literary Magazine.
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