MARC ESCALONA GABA



HERS
[Dickinson]

Imagine in the sound of a drawer sliding shut---
quick and quotable---aphoristic---in the click 

of the lock like a kiss---her mirror begins 
its interview and critique---her foreheads

now collections of lines slitting her 
open---to the rest of her. Take it all in---

remember---this riddle, this secret---where
she might secrete the master key---imagine

how her eyes will close as an Auctioneer
no one can see nails the price of her idea….

Death in advance, in the avoidance---her Life
in the blurred circumference---things kept in

alabaster chambers where they can be free….
Then a hymn flows out of her as she slips out

of her exoskeletal white dress---the music
of solitude---rustle of envelopes---the tragedy 

history is---each crucial accident of boredom---
when its spectacle happens before no one

that now she must be pieced together---hips, thighs,
hair let loose, the cartridge of her eyes---the lust 

& luster of her---Form---that only she could know, 
her mouth cracked open before all she could not---
 

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