I am thinking about how to make a more resilient leather. I think dyeing goatskin with sumac does this. You are thinking about how to construct ruins. Constantine’s foot, for example. Huge severed marble ankle on which to pose for pictures. Are we not allowed to sit. This postcard of a tiny cat resting on his big toe lets you reflect on expanse and ownership. Still, I worry the pigeons will find us and chip away at our limbs. You wonder how to make skin flame-retardant and I say to hell with the cat postcards but I love them I love them look how small.
This cathedral we are standing in front of might collapse and become an acorn pile. All of its statues might dissolve. Expanse and ownership. So should I steal Constantine’s toe. The toe is too heavy to transport in hands. Seems cannibal to transport in mouth. Why are you turning. Why is your chest collapsing. Maybe from those cinder chips we ate; we thought they were crackers of origin. We needed a center again. Could we agree it is good to have a landing spot. A body of bread. Plaster torsos split by light.
Caroline Davidson
Caroline Davidson sang in a metal band in Ohio, sold cupcakes in South Carolina, and currently lives in Denver. She is an MFA candidate in poetry at the University of Colorado at Boulder, where she also teaches creative writing. She is the poetry editor of Timber Journal.
