the devil's fetch
BY CAndice Wuehle
all the bombs were in my own bones this year.
all the doll in the dram, all the effigy in the I.V.
i didn’t get fear when the organ went quiet, was removed.
My. i didn’t take what I didn’t get. Good. built a
little body made mostly of shocks. God. all of me is all
of you and I wonder when we will know how far I am
from where I was. My? i can’t take you to the land I mention
in my ether if you turn me off. Good? i’m no marionette
you’ll see all my strings are wrapped up in being not married
yet. God? if you take me to the starveling wood I will
swear I am for you. My tongue is the only one in my
mouth, baby. Good spells are all I learned in the underocean,
baby. God never pried open my shell and jubileed a profane
script until I misspelt my own name and was only everyone, baby.
My Good God, that never happened. This year I am myself.
This year I feel no pain, I feel nothing, not at all, I am clam.
Question: Are we breathing The Water or The Air?
Candice Wuehle is a Romanticist currently completing a Masters in English Literature at the University of Minnesota. Her work can most recently be read in Gigantic Sequins, Barely South Review and SOFTBLOW. This fall she will be attending The Iowa Writers' Workshop.