Four Poems

March 1, 2019



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



everything. She thinks


of Celan.


His heart, a luminous











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



my throat. How


did I learn to sew

like that? I read


a poppy.


I believe

in red and black.












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











Night Lifted Her


brick skirt

for me—

the beginning

of that dance of sacrifices,



wintered on around her

like a shushing.


The way ruins,


take the mouth around them








Jessica Lieberman's work has appeared or is forthcoming in Kenyon Review Online, Bennington Review, The Laurel Review, Horsethief, Salamander and other journals.


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