On I Am Not Writing/You Are Unrighting Our Bodies

by Emily Bowles

Epistolarity betrays me—the mailbag upturned,
Behn’s loveletters, Gildon’s cruel parroting, and
an awkward break
               chiasmus

dance sleep
sleep dance

hauntings of a Crooked Mind:

I have learned a lesson, my lessening

A crooked body is a crooked mind
A crooked body begets a crooked mind
A crooked body doesn’t mind

that

I make the Happiness I cannot find.

And men, all Men

all Men want is
to make fictions of me
to make out
                            fictions of me
to make Your fictions of me

when
all [I] want is
to give birth to Bunnies,
to Mary Toft my womb exturning,
to Mary my womb wonder woman—a story running
bunny
                            [anomaly]
away with Me.