To Fill a Sieve
by Julia Cohen
The circus tent is perky and wants
A chronic dream of candid harm
of upgrades and brittle scaffolding.
They are the best ventriloquists,
bird. Ten sleeves away from where
Octopus dexterity mounts
time to the number of epaulettes.
fills with blood and spills graffiti
crumpled napkins. What comes down?
and gulp. A drone, a hum, a whirl, prelude
but seeps into drywall. The vegetable
to smell sweet or natural, evenly
Unearthing our ostrich heads we
steeped. Clay strangers pass
our foreheads entreat: take
Their hearts of grapes, funerals
cavalier. Even a mild swell is
We usher them to the upside-down
fitted for drops from the cloudy house.
the silverware and melt utensils
We call for a master carver
in alcoved warmth. They will thaw
an ocean, we sleep best on the crest
and forge insular salinity. When we
with moss to cup sips. Drink
Julia Cohen graduated from Wesleyan University last spring and is currently a Ford Fellow in Wesleyan's Writing Program. She hopes to work in publishing when the fellowship ends. She has just finished her first poetry manuscript and is completing a chapbook. Her work has been published in Hanging Loose, Nth Position and GutCult.