On Star Trek,
when they beamed

people back
up, there was

a blue mist all around the

and the part over

their hearts always
went last.

In junior high I wondered if,
during the testing

of the beam-thing,

someone’s heart
got left behind

some time, on some

planet, or if hearts
were just too stiff

to beam up clean.
In the yard we had

back then,
the ivy covered up

the walls,
and cried like waves

during big storms
and got so dark at night

that it disappeared.

I think that
all the fears I have

come from that yard,
from the undersides

of ivy, with its hard white

like dogs’ ears
inside out.

But watching Star Trek

after dinner,
with my hair back

in a braid

and my wants diffuse as stars,
all I’d see

through the back window
was my face

in everything.

Elizabeth McMunn-Tetangco co-edits One Sentence Poems and works as a librarian. Her chapbooks, Lion Hunt and Various Lies, are available from Plan B Press and Finishing Line Press respectively.

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