According to a dot on a map
WE ARE HERE. Purple-faced and panting,
no doorknobs to twist or keyholes
to slip through. Nothing works, especially
not our mouths. Everything
is black ice & sugar sapphires. A crow
watches the frenzy, enrapt. Please
don’t forget to panic. Stow
your baggage. Secure
your own mask before helping the person next
to you. Do you have insurance?
You should. This is not an extravagence.
There are rubber gloves
in all the drawers but none
your size. The following time zones
are on a two-hour delay. We’ll all stay
in these bodies until further notice.
This is a reprint of work originally published in Fleshed.
Leigh Anne Hornfeldt, a Kentucky native, is the author of East Main Aviary, The Intimacy Archive, and Fleshed (forthcoming from Winged City Chapbooks, 2016). She is the editor at Two of Cups Press and a recipient of a grant from the Kentucky Foundation for Women. In 2013 her poem “Laika” placed 2nd in The Argos Prize competition and in 2012 she received the Kudzu Poetry Prize. Her work has appeared in journals such as Spry, Lunch Ticket, Foundling Review, and the Journal of Kentucky Studies.