Mental Armor

Paloma Yannakakis

Feather crown in orange and blue, little lord of
suffering, lording it over herself. For how could she
have known the destruction, marrow-full magpie,
blue-behind-the-wings, that ranged within her? That
one also endures more than one is able to, until the
door swings open on an empty sea, metal clanging at
the edge of a highway, —until desire no longer
resembles itself, is just the place most recently
abandoned. At last, one takes apart the memory, piece
by piece, to see if it still stands.