A Deep Blue
buzzing follows her
like a man
shouting Revelation
at the asphalt.
Her mouth is a flower
turned inward—
how terrible to be
alive. The body
remembers
everything. She thinks
of Celan.
His heart, a luminous
box.
Poppies Standing
in for death. My
father tells me I see only
one dark thing.
I see snuff
like wallpaper.
My words are dark.
I see a worm, eater
of death. Thread
patterns
my throat. How
did I learn to sew
like that? I read
a poppy.
I believe
in red and black.
Return
I was pleased
when my body fell
out of my body.
Easy as a friend. No
small hiding
of relentless formation—
I want
this absence.
I got away with myself
again.
Night Lifted Her
brick skirt
for me—
the beginning
of that dance of sacrifices,
winter.
Winter
wintered on around her
like a shushing.
The way ruins,
rumors—shhh—
take the mouth around them
—shhh
Jessica Lieberman's work has appeared or is forthcoming in Kenyon Review Online, Bennington Review, The Laurel Review, Horsethief, Salamander and other journals.