Annie Pittman
Postdrome: Another day lost
This morning I winced & waved to the day
from the window Hello bright day!
– I am my own prisoner.
Now, it’s night & I emerge
as a thing that loves the dark
not because it wants to
but because it needs to.
Diurnal sounds like dying
which is what I want to do
somedays, when the pain is caught
under the bones of my face.
I want my skin & muscles to melt so the bones
can be free in the broken light of the sun
in the air. I want to be a shepherd spirit
& grab the empty orbital bones of my face
like a yoke & lead the rest of my body around
like an ox; I want to let my body loose
in a field of alfalfa, willow, wheat,
blood red berries.
O to close the almond eyes
of the beast of burden
to set down (finally) the heavy,
heavy horns.
Annie Pittman lives in Southern Illinois. She earned her MFA in poetry at the University of Virginia in Charlottesville. Her poems have appeared in Rogue Agent, Thrush, Neck, BOAAT Journal, & Midwestern Gothic.
Return to January 2024 Edition
This morning I winced & waved to the day
from the window Hello bright day!
– I am my own prisoner.
Now, it’s night & I emerge
as a thing that loves the dark
not because it wants to
but because it needs to.
Diurnal sounds like dying
which is what I want to do
somedays, when the pain is caught
under the bones of my face.
I want my skin & muscles to melt so the bones
can be free in the broken light of the sun
in the air. I want to be a shepherd spirit
& grab the empty orbital bones of my face
like a yoke & lead the rest of my body around
like an ox; I want to let my body loose
in a field of alfalfa, willow, wheat,
blood red berries.
O to close the almond eyes
of the beast of burden
to set down (finally) the heavy,
heavy horns.
Annie Pittman lives in Southern Illinois. She earned her MFA in poetry at the University of Virginia in Charlottesville. Her poems have appeared in Rogue Agent, Thrush, Neck, BOAAT Journal, & Midwestern Gothic.
Return to January 2024 Edition