S. K. Brownell
that slick swift stick
of the thing at your clavicle
the depth of the hole a
salve, the emptiness a sleeping
pill you didn’t know you popped,
desire still desirous of something
the thing thing that will route out the nothing
digging out blackheads beneath a microscope.
you push and push and push afraid of failing
the talon grooved with a wood grain, white
like your clavicle if you cleaved
muscles and polished bone until
you realize it’s your other hand
on the end of it,
your other arm
the stronger
muscle and your fear
is no longer of flaw but of force.
***
S.K. Brownell’s work has won the National Partners of the American Theatre Playwriting Excellence Award, a Sewanee Writers Conference Tennessee Williams Scholarship, and the Solstice Literary Magazine Editor’s Choice Award, and has appeared in or is forthcoming from Great Lakes Review, Solstice Literary Magazine, Crab Fat Magazine, Punt Volat, Decoded: Pride Anthology, and other publications. Stephanie holds an MFA from Boston University, teaches writing at GrubStreet, and creates with Artists Theater of Boston.