by Beth Gordon
The easy bake oven covered in soot. Battery-powered and uninformed. What can be wound can be rewound and finger printed. Please place this doll into the crib (exactly) as you did your child. Ignore the police officers who dial back your thermostat: they are sweating and homesick for mother’s icebox lemon pie. Do not memorize badge numbers. Gather her seahorse her comb her shoestrings her unflustered purple bear. Howl. Coyotes and neighborhood dogs will arrive and dig holes to the moon. Bury broken radio parts that will never be unburied. Translate all transmissions. ____
Beth Gordon is a poet, mother and grandmother currently living in Asheville, NC. Her poetry has been published in Passages North, EcoTheo Review, SWWIM, Into the Void, Pidgeonholes, Barren, Pithead Chapel, and others. She is the author of two published chapbooks and her full-length collection, This Small Machine of Prayer, is forthcoming in 2021. She is Managing Editor of Feral: A Journal of Poetry and Art, and Assistant Editor of Animal Heart Press.