by Kirsten Dierking

For a short time after

the rape， I found I could

move things. Energy birds

swarmed from my brain.

With a witch's sense

of abandoned physics，

I set dolls rolling.

Back and forth. Like a

breathing sound.

Using only my night-powered

eyes， I pushed the lamp

to the dresser's edge.

I buried the mirrors

in avalanches of freshly

laundered underpants.

I never slept.

I did all these things

lying down.