Black fossil in a slab of shale
In a river you come upon a coil
What have you of my spilled right lung?
Make a threshold whiter and wider
Was finding my vessel in ash not enough?
Bury me further. Build a pyre
above the mound
Set the final vision of me ablaze
There is no impending phoenix rising.
Silhouette is smolder
They’ll call me cretaceous, metamorphic,
Gesture. Most mornings, I cry for you.
They caged my head, fully aquatic. Shook me.
Shook my brain. Filled me with all the properties of a stone
sifted from the stream. But I am no gold. I am charcoal. No.
Anthracite. To draw. To draw a flame.
Danielle Susi is the author of the chapbook The Month in Which We Are Born (dancing girl press, 2015). She is a columnist for Entropy, the co-editor of HOUND, and the Programming and Media Coordinator for the Poetry Center of Chicago. Her writing has appeared in Knee-Jerk Magazine, Hobart, The Rumpus, and elsewhere. She received her MFA in writing from The School of the Art Institute of Chicago and Newcity has named her among the Top 5 Emerging Chicago Poets. Find her online at daniellesusi.com