She lifts the arm with a single finger,
sets the needle down
on the exact groove where silence
sputters and pops,
turns itself around
as if a circle is just a corner with no end.
She closes her eyes
and loops across the floor, threading
between the chairs
as a tongue knows cartography of tooth-
slick lobes, as a tongue once sliced
orbits round and round
the molar with its chip,
as if safety is adjacent to the jagged edge.
Lorrie Ness is a poet writing in a rural corner of Virginia. When she’s not writing, she can be found stomping through the woods, watching birds and playing in the dirt. Her work can be found in numerous journals, including Palette Poetry and Sky Island Journal. She was nominated for a Pushcart Prize in 2021 and her chapbook Anatomy of a Wound was published by Flowstone Press in July of 2021.