by Kirsten Dierking

    For a short time after

    the rape¹， I found I could

    move things. Energy birds

    swarmed² from my brain.

    With a witch's sense

    of abandoned physics，

    I set dolls rolling.

    Back and forth³. Like a

    breathing sound.

    Using only my night-powered

    eyes， I pushed the lamp

    to the dresser's edge.

    I buried the mirrors

    in avalanches⁴ of freshly

    laundered⁵ underpants.

    I never slept.

    I did all these things

    lying down.