appointment

by Ellora Sutton

  this is not a séance 
my hands aren’t touching any hard surface
I sleep in a closed red flower  same as
my mother                   she
  planted a rose a few weeks  before
            this whole thing is like what they say
about plastic bottles  you know
  each time you drink   a bit more  plastic
            the particles
they wash down like  swallowed teeth
            I’ve got this whole new jaw in my belly  brandishing  space
  no  no  I don’t                       look  I open the curtains every morning 
the light presses   Jesus to my ribs  and              can I go now 
            can I  go
  I left the curtains open and the house  might be   
                         burning