Hinged bisque, I bend in subtle shift,
an accordion pleating that props primp
against pillow. Gold star, I stare, daubed
eyes unblinking, glitter-gilded, with an
inwardness so soldierly and stubborn
it begs the slap, the secretive pinch.
Motionless as a scabbed крокодил I lurk
by the banks, lunging for drinkers to drag
and drown, dismember in murk. Blue
as the baby face down in the pool, I
am the tranquilizer haze in the day
room at the end of the locked corridor.
Devon Balwit writes in Portland, OR. She is a poetry editor for Minute Magazine and has five chapbooks out or forthcoming: How the Blessed Travel (Maverick Duck Press); Forms Most Marvelous (dancing girl press); In Front of the Elements (Grey Borders Books), Where You Were Going Never Was (Grey Borders Books); and The Bow Must Bear the Brunt (Red Flag Poetry). Her individual poems can be found in The Cincinnati Review, Fifth Wednesday, The Stillwater Review, Red Earth Review, The Fourth River, Posit, Emrys Journal, taplit mag, The Ekphrastic Review, and more.