{"id":535,"date":"2009-10-03T07:29:10","date_gmt":"2009-10-03T12:29:10","guid":{"rendered":"http:\/\/fullofcrow.com\/poetry\/?p=535"},"modified":"2009-10-03T07:29:10","modified_gmt":"2009-10-03T12:29:10","slug":"kat-dixon","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/www.fullofcrow.com\/poetry\/2009\/10\/kat-dixon\/","title":{"rendered":"Kat Dixon"},"content":{"rendered":"

Kat Dixon: Scales, Upper Peninsula, Ten<\/em><\/p>\n


\n<\/em><\/p>\n

Scales<\/p>\n

This is how we sleep in black and white.<\/p>\n

Lean very close because I\u2019m telling you something,
\nsomething about fire\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 or
\nwood,
\ntwelve puffs on the back of the throat
\nthree times a day.<\/p>\n

Every shape of my mouth is something stolen.
\n:\u00a0\u00a0 Stolen when I had my right ear electrocuted
\nto keep my uterus cupped in flour.<\/p>\n

The body is a tired subject, exhausted \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 in Bulgarian, in the length
\nof the apostrophe that mirrors your spattered eyelid,
\ntouching<\/p>\n

riverbed and clavicle in one unscheduled tangerine good
\nmorning, or,<\/p>\n

in
\ntranslation,\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 mine.<\/p>\n

Upper Peninsula<\/p>\n

It is understood\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 now \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0that Michigan
\nis known only by her handwriting
\nand
\neach half\u00a0 dimpled planet
\nis a woman with a man\u2019s name<\/p>\n

In this
\npeculiar climate
\nyour bones rattle \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 as
\nif they\u2019ve memorized every word
\nin the Russian language in record time\u00a0\u00a0 It cannot be unsaid
\nthat while you sleep I hide my possessions in your<\/p>\n

joints<\/p>\n

and in the hollows of your ears
\none pearl bracelet I found in the ocean and several
\nslips of paper with
\nimportant dates\u00a0\u00a0 \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 all done out of spite<\/p>\n

after you noticed \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 that
\nyou could slide
\na fish \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 between each
\nof our words<\/p>\n

without splitting eggs in any
\nafterthought
\nor leaving the mailbox unhinged<\/p>\n

For completely unrelated reasons\u00a0\u00a0 Michigan is sinking<\/p>\n

Ten<\/p>\n

She steadies herself against the
\ndoor, a cigarette from the morning walk sparkling in the
\nfolds of her esophagus.\u00a0 I ask if her knit sweater intends to be that
\nself-contained, and she
\nanswers that none of the furniture
\nmatches.\u00a0 I blame the painters for the
\ncharcoal smeared
\ninto the carpet while Milta
\ncomments on the status of tequila from the foyer below.\u00a0 You
\nshould have it all refinished,
\nshe says, settle on a motif.\u00a0 The
\nrepetition is nauseating \u2013 the<\/p>\n

armoire has been established as a
\nfocal disaster, someone\u2019s abandoned moon, Denver\u2019s
\nfinest collection of pinholes
\nshipped east for a rustic disagreement of culture.\u00a0 I step into the
\nfootprints left in charcoal on
\nthe carpet.\u00a0 I clearly could not have
\ndone this, I say.\u00a0 She inspects
\nthe desk chair, transplanted from
\na sewing machine, like someone sworn to secrecy and waits to be<\/p>\n

disowned.\u00a0 Lines and lines of fabric amount in the
\ndrawers of the armoire, all dresses never made.<\/p>\n

Kat Dixon is poetry editor of Divine Dirt Quarterly and author of Kississippi (an e-chap from Gold Wake Press).
\nHer work has recently appeared or is forthcoming in blossombones, Indefinite Space, Otoliths, Clockwise Cat,
\nand elsewhere.\u00a0 She may occasionally be found blinking at katdixon.blogspot.com.<\/em><\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"

Kat Dixon: Scales, Upper Peninsula, Ten<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":1,"featured_media":0,"comment_status":"closed","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"footnotes":""},"categories":[9],"tags":[],"class_list":["post-535","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","hentry","category-october-2009"],"yoast_head":"\nKat Dixon - Full Of Crow: Poetry (Archives)<\/title>\n<meta name=\"robots\" content=\"index, follow, max-snippet:-1, max-image-preview:large, max-video-preview:-1\" \/>\n<link rel=\"canonical\" href=\"https:\/\/www.fullofcrow.com\/poetry\/2009\/10\/kat-dixon\/\" \/>\n<meta property=\"og:locale\" content=\"en_US\" \/>\n<meta property=\"og:type\" content=\"article\" \/>\n<meta property=\"og:title\" content=\"Kat Dixon - Full Of Crow: Poetry (Archives)\" \/>\n<meta property=\"og:description\" content=\"Kat Dixon: Scales, Upper Peninsula, Ten\" \/>\n<meta property=\"og:url\" content=\"https:\/\/www.fullofcrow.com\/poetry\/2009\/10\/kat-dixon\/\" \/>\n<meta property=\"og:site_name\" content=\"Full Of Crow: Poetry (Archives)\" \/>\n<meta property=\"article:published_time\" content=\"2009-10-03T12:29:10+00:00\" \/>\n<meta name=\"author\" content=\"ElynnAlexander\" \/>\n<meta name=\"twitter:card\" content=\"summary_large_image\" \/>\n<meta name=\"twitter:creator\" content=\"@elynnalexander\" \/>\n<meta name=\"twitter:label1\" content=\"Written by\" \/>\n\t<meta name=\"twitter:data1\" content=\"ElynnAlexander\" \/>\n\t<meta name=\"twitter:label2\" content=\"Est. reading time\" \/>\n\t<meta name=\"twitter:data2\" content=\"2 minutes\" \/>\n<script type=\"application\/ld+json\" class=\"yoast-schema-graph\">{\"@context\":\"https:\/\/schema.org\",\"@graph\":[{\"@type\":\"WebPage\",\"@id\":\"https:\/\/www.fullofcrow.com\/poetry\/2009\/10\/kat-dixon\/\",\"url\":\"https:\/\/www.fullofcrow.com\/poetry\/2009\/10\/kat-dixon\/\",\"name\":\"Kat Dixon - 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