Caught

The metal bars hurt
only on direct contact.
I am transforming myself
limb by limb into a giant
insect, beginning with
what will become
my hind left leg. It bends
now in ways foreign
to human thought.
If successful this thing
trapped in my throat
choking me
from the inside will escape
or better yet be swallowed
down to the base of my spine
sputtering until the last
lights give out and the cage
releases me.

Acquisition

We’re learning the language
of violence; midnight

thumbs at your throat.
The slow ache cranium-deep,

unrelenting. I fear
for my teeth. Surely

they’ll crack from the force
so much holding back. So much

said and unsaid. Morning comes
we’re wet with crying,

sweat aching
to get through. Morning

and I am hoarse
with new words, desperate

shouting under sheets.

Demolition

Tear it down. Tear it all down. Take
a skill-saw, sledge hammer, crow bar
to the whole lot of it. Work until
everything is in pieces. The smallest
parts of their former selves. Dust
settling on the broken floor. Your heart
measuring out the acceleration, trying
to keep pace with your breath.
You’re breathing hard now, gulping
down shovels of air; your lungs
can’t expand enough, accommodate
everything they’re being asked to hold.

Alexandra Pasian is a freelance writer living and teaching in Montreal, Quebec. Among other journals, her work has appeared in Arc, Cosmonauts Avenue, CV2, Event, and The Fiddlehead. She holds an MA in Creative Writing from Concordia University.