Jenne Hsien Patrick
Every tiny paperclip cuts
a little as I roll. I thumbtack my duty
to daddy, learning to say yes, collect
every common desire. Zigzagging
through rooms, I am his invisible
dreaming, a shining sideways spell
fixing everything. To finish the mess
maybe it begins with this:
am I am I am I
an inherited holehole business?
I’d rather disavow any tendrils of definition
the vowels A and O and the moan
indistinguishable from life itself
he left me. This fragmented universe,
now mine to rebuild from pencils,
suitcase, television, jellyfish. I charm it all
into my orbit, suck down diamonds, devour
Hi Honey, I’m home sitcom daddies whole.
This obedient work, it’s a grind. I try to forget
the constellations he shattered, dodge loose electrons
fueled from his supernova burning through everything and
I collapse, my unruly body grows smaller
to escape attention, but never escapes notice
am I am I am I
merely a lumpchunk soul – no
I crown my impossible thoughts with salt and selenite
I lipstick my lips with spit and wipe them off with my cuff
by the time I can gather clouds and rivers
and cache every broken wreck off this earth,
I can reverse crystal-ball his punches,
how he obliterates Pluto, fracture the galaxies
into every living and dead bit. I was tasked as kin
to re-mass the universe, in order to save us all.
The truth is, I don’t need his mirror blessing.
I want to blow up the palace. I too want
to be the one who destroys.