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Underworld
by Dana Curtis

December 3, 2020 Contributed By: Dana Curtis

This poem was nominated for The Best of the Net.

Underworld
Courtesy of Mervyn Jones

It was done in an hour, and

the aftermath was a red light sinking

behind a line of bodies, nothing like

a bread line or staying up all night

to get the best seats. My cut was

waiting in a box by the door while a man stood

outside my window looking at the house

next door. The world was efficient

just as it always had been: I was meant to be

alone. All of the trees knelt down

and untied the vines. Some things only taste good

when they’re stolen. I will always give up

the codes and locations, memories

and fog hidden buildings: they’re all wound up

like my mood – no one will sleep

tonight. It’s one more instance of waiting

to be taken, waiting for the crime,

a marble bird on the tabletop,

a gun safe, a merry-go-round, antique radio.

I listen to the same song but never

really understand. I wore

a necklace of onyx beads and when

the sun came up, I left

the day in a jar.


DANA CURTIS’ third full-length collection of poetry, Wave Particle Duality, was recently published by blazeVOX Books. Her second collection, i, was published by CW Books, and her first book, The Body’s Response to Famine, won the Pavement Saw Press Transcontinental Poetry Prize. Her work has appeared in such publications as Hotel Amerika, Indiana Review, Colorado Review, and Prairie Schooner. She has received grants from the Minnesota State Arts Board and the McKnight Foundation. She is the Editor-in-Chief of Elixir Press and lives in Denver Colorado. 

 

 

 

 

Filed Under: Poetry Posted On: December 3, 2020

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