Aubrie Marrin


Whatever ward this is, I open
every door.

Chicken-wire sky, safety glass,
I watch

the systems fail. Flow out, poison,
come forth—

Horus holds a mossy human

crab eyes and pearls. He will spit
you out

good. Who do you think you are
anyway, inside

the uterine cavity, on the intestines even,
how you appear

and flourish, appear and flourish
with your own

blood supply, with teeth until there are

inside me, tetracycline pebbles

all hell. When we found you, we found

the complicated body. Think of my heart
like a hose

with too much pressure shooting
through it.

Using like or as. Do thou nothing there

I take the blue and yellow pill, I wear
my dress,

I keep me safe behind
the glass.

Aubrie Marrin’s poems have appeared in many publications, including Guernica, Harp & Altar, Sink Review, The Literary Review, Horse Less Review, and Colorado Review. Her chapbook, "Terrible + Powerful + Wondrous" was recently published by Horse Less Press, and she was also a finalist for the 2012 Cleveland State University Poetry Center First Book Prize. Raised in upstate New York, she currently lives and works in Brooklyn.

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