WHITNEY DeVOS
August 1, 2010
Man-Made Insects
I didn’t like the wire dress but wanted the shoes. I both left
and was left. Home in my dark hair and that pale corset.
I was always notorious. Flesh-colored, tight. They said they would
throw gold at the stage. My spiders string black and cork.
At my feet. Ensnared but instead hurl flowers. I changed my name
& married. Men on three continents. I threaten to beat them until they apologize.
A real Missus. With a whip. Remorse the violent emotion. The most desired.
I could show you how and you would be. Another voice misplaced. Betrayed on the coast.
Another woman. Christian name on the tombstone.
*
*
*
from Terminal
my grandfather is laughing
through his desserthe asks meif I could imaginetrying to paint
aurora borealis
how small a distance
between the beautiful & the absurd
& me, trying to allow
Time to lodge itself in his anklesand her hands
I was away and it will never be something to
prepare for
absence: how it bores into you
as ridiculousas it must have beenfor him
to peel away at a cupcake
with a knifeas if to explain to my grandmother
my love for you shall always arise
idiopathic: a suffering of one’s own
spontaneous and of unknown origin
hers card is unsigned
& reads Love Forever
we weep as we laugh and cry “harder”
our body takes hold & releases
absence expands
toxicity grows light
.
.
.
Whitney DeVos currently lives & writes in Tucson, Arizona. This summer she was awarded the University of Arizona Writing Program Fellowship to obsess over medieval literature and play video games, and in the process create http://infernosummer.org. The website – to be launched in July 2010 – will provide and cater to a community of diverse readers, with the collective goal of reading a Canto a day of Dante’s Inferno until complete. In May, she received the Grand Prize for Poetry in the Pabst Blue Ribbon Art Contest. Check out the winning poem here.
