By: Sarah Cook
for JN
small seed like a fossil, a
bitemark, a name:
until she grows tired
of laminating goodness, planting
signatures in the garden of public
request
finite, historic, lamentable
photo of her looking like Joan of Arc if Joan of Arc
had hair for miles, refused
even a sarcastic smile, bent
flowers into metal
on the billboard, she pretends
to flatten, discovers want,
foregoes the product entirely
the walls make up the ground
the edges, shifting
desire through permanence
there are products she
refuses to look at
anymore, whole kingdoms
of clothing that clothe
someone else, certain
angles at which she can’t
be seen, eyes open or
otherwise
these days, every poem becomes a list
safe space in the near invisible line break
produced and then
produced again:
the secret to
making a circle
is turning
around
the secret to
making money is
the secret to
not writing
the poem
what if preservation or
provision, direction or
mothering?
what if strength
is not the core
of strength?
the secret to not orbiting
is planting your heels
while the men become apertures
soft, absorbed
while the men stand in rows
muscle, glue, profession
the men are so
photogenic
the men belong
behind glass
Sarah Cook’s writing has appeared in The Feminist Wire, many gendered mothers, ASAP/J, Illuminati Girl Gang, and elsewhere. Her essay, “The Future of the Lying Body,” was named runner-up in Black Warrior Review’s 2016 Nonfiction contest, judged by T. Clutch Fleischmann. She lives in Oregon.
