Emma Claire Foley



Now that you’ve memorized the brutal chains
bead curtain on the dry earth
on baobab doorpost, a desert whose name you don’t know, means friendship,
there’s space made available in the cave
of issue, oh, you,
I am the kitchen knife of psychology,
I am yours, my manufacture
is complete, I laugh stainless
and quietly near you be (retire to drawer),
am ready replacement for the one you ruined
on the souvenir figures, Venus
of something, Hottentot,

they wanted the ones with the straw hair
and the bodies, you know, a kind of softness
between the knees, and
all your materials mired in wet clay, and
no respect for the instrument–

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