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Abstract

p like cud my liver protesting with gifts of bile; how my throat always knew something was not quite right</p><p id="ca3a">until one day my sinewy soul grew muscles and she dragged you dripping like a wet rat frail and flailing as you were — deposited on the light side of darkness demagnified from within my skin internalized no more; and pronounced herself Free! Liberated! no longer responsible for anyone’s vacant places but her own.</p><p id="0233"><a href="/@wakinguprazzledazzle"><i>Vixen Lea</i></a><i> is a mother to two small children and a number of animals, but first and foremost she is a human struggling to hang on to joy and presence. Poetry helps her remember who she was before juice boxes, laundry and playdates.She is in the process of assembling her first book of collected works, </i>UnexpectedAlchemy<i>, due out by the end of 2021. Her writing has appeared in Flying Island literary journal, The Manifest-Station, and can be found on her blog <a href="http://wakinguprazzledazzle.com">wakinguprazzledazzle.com</a>.</i></p><p id="627a">Read more by Vixen Lea</p><div id="fcd5" class="l

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Help Wanted: Hole-Filler

A poem of termination

a half-marathon of years since you settled in the lining of my guts staked claim in that village of villi — the issue in my tissues the lesson never learned, but wait

perhaps I give you too much credit — you were just a fraction of the fractal that kept repeating as each of the versions of you paraded down the streets of my life; like how one precisely-placed mirror becomes one zillion-million and you swear you can see back in time

no, it was really just me answering the same want-ad over and over again — a co-dependent occupation a cooperation of desperation a depressive state of coagulation churning you up like cud my liver protesting with gifts of bile; how my throat always knew something was not quite right

until one day my sinewy soul grew muscles and she dragged you dripping like a wet rat frail and flailing as you were — deposited on the light side of darkness demagnified from within my skin internalized no more; and pronounced herself Free! Liberated! no longer responsible for anyone’s vacant places but her own.

Vixen Lea is a mother to two small children and a number of animals, but first and foremost she is a human struggling to hang on to joy and presence. Poetry helps her remember who she was before juice boxes, laundry and playdates.She is in the process of assembling her first book of collected works, UnexpectedAlchemy, due out by the end of 2021. Her writing has appeared in Flying Island literary journal, The Manifest-Station, and can be found on her blog wakinguprazzledazzle.com.