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Spectacle

BY KATHRYN HARGETT-HSU

My vision burned like microfilm, frame to core.

Then it was all shadow & line. That fist

of candy stars scattered across the ER—

that could not be my mind—but I was already

expelling my body from my body.

My body turned inside out, then outside in.

I felt like a bag of blood. I was a bag of blood.

Feeling & being: twin pebbles passed between three shells,

identical & vanishing. Everyone thought what a waste

because I thought what a waste. Oh it was humiliating.

I wanted to be monogamous with my suffering,

to be regarded only by the obsidian eye

of that which devours me. Instead, I made myself a drama

of dry obsessions, my seaweed & my animal parts

spit into the suicide’s scrutinized theater.

There was death. Death was a single-celled organism

reacting to light. It moved towards me

on its slow bristles of cilia, crawled over my face

& continued its journey elsewhere.

Kathryn Hargett-Hsu is author of Good Listener (2024), winner of the Frontier Poetry Breakthrough Chapbook Contest. Born and raised in Alabama, she lives in St. Louis. Find out more on her website: kathrynhargetthsu.com.

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