Two-Headed Kitten


Compartmentalize sneers a headache where the head should be


My fortune cookie says ‘you’re the apple of my eye’ my horoscope says ‘stay in bed’ my ‘boyfriend’ calls me the best lay but a blowjob desert I head for Staten Island since we’re portable by ferry


When I lived in Mexico and worked with welders bronze statues came from the wax I left

Sculptures took back the hummingbird who flew through the window into my lap


I saw a conjoined kitten on the linoleum near the laundry where the cat gave birth

I tried to warn the children but left intrigue instead

When I cried ‘gatito con dos cabezas’ I didn’t know the tense for dying never saw who swept

the heads away


Remember how sometimes we’re too tiny for traces


When I was six I stored everything I said under my tongue sucked on a rosehip

drew the waterwheel churning glued teeth with taffy rifled through parental mail

kept duplicates of all my thoughts incase someone asked for evidence


In the bathtub I swim to Staten Island we’re neck and neck

but I beat the ferry by a head what we carry most is not visible

It is so very visible




I Consolidate January to Mean One of Two Stamps

 

A stillness prepares to join the forgotten in childhood illness, 

my little face full of murals in an accidental forest of sweaters


Illness in an abstract chair sending antlers by courier pigeon

Envelopes of pollen, bread, and colored wax

Raise the houses to glide on stilts that storks can mate with

High tide pulls at the paternal armchair

 

Funnel Alaskan snow into my blue sinus to prepare me

for how the dead return to find another child in their blanket

 

Caught inside the king's bedchamber nightmare, either every piece

I say is possibly true or my envelopes did not reach you to remember



julia cohen