The panes turn over, forming a series of exhibits / one regenerating exhibit.
Exhibit : The self is revealed as a series of ghosts. Lights flaring up along a wire.
Exhibit : Slide after slide of the drone war. Aerial footage & topography maps. The names of the dead, inscrutable, notated in the periphery.
Exhibit : A window reveals the self on the other side, where it snows out of a red sky all night.
: In the mirror you find the nation. Angle by angle, white face regenerating.
: A periscope revealing a red sky full of drones.
: Another copy of The New York Times. Picture of a father holding his dead teenager, curved like a fallen bough in the center of Damascus.
: Dreams in which we operate drones, watch them move together like birds, forming a whorl, diffusing, like a super-organism.
: The opening & closing of valves.
: Valves releasing snow out of a red sky. Encountering one mound of snow, then another. A swell of particles.
: The nation forms a swarm, like a super-organism.
: Fear of being like a drone. Valves opening & releasing a series of deaths.
: A swell of particles.
: Valves releasing drones from a red sky. Ghosts of drones that have passed, like sunspots.
: Subterranean drones hatching from their shells, crawling to the surface.
: Map explaining how we are each a machine of infinite complexity, reproducing ghost after ghost.
: Nation as super-organism. Nation as a series of little ghosts. All of us regenerating. All of us morphing through the panes. Approaching the periscope.
Emily Lawson is a 22-year-old writer based in Prescott, Arizona. Her poetry has been published in The Reader and The Lilith. She recently graduated from Hampshire College, where she studied creative writing and global intellectual history.