Poetry — September 25, 2012 16:39 — 1 Comment

No Other World – Lillian Nickerson

I grew my grandmother’s legs
down from my waist. I grew her

unstraight spine.I wrote a letter
on yellow lined paper. I meant to say

I cannot love you. My words grew
a rightward slant. I drew a hole

with my knife and there was
no other world. My hair grew

longer. A nurse stuck my finger
with a tiny needle. I bled

into a tiny carafe. I forgot which way
was south. Everywhere I looked

there was not my lover’s waist.


Lillian Nickerson was born and raised in Seattle. She attended Sarah Lawrence College and New York University. Her poems were most recently published in CityArts and the debut issue of Death Hums. She lives with her dog Lois.

One Comment

  1. Mom says:

    Striking images of pain. Vivid.

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What am I?

Bioluminescent eye
That sees by the shine
Of its own light. Lies

Blind me. I am the seventh human sense
And my stepchild,

Scientists can't find me.

Januswise I make us men;
Was my image then—

Remind me:

The awful fall up off all fours
From the forest
To the hours…

Tick, Tock: Divine me.

-- Richard Kenney