Tongues

You can keep your black tongue,
keep your undead endearments & dry licks

on the neck. Somewhere, a circus packs
up & moves to an Indian burial ground

in Illinois. The elephants parade in fury
& trapeze artists are cradled by the air

then plummet one-by-one to the dusty
earth where you reside an arm’s-length

under since the day I pushed you into a daisy.
The children don’t understand why the lion

bit the tamer’s head off or why the ringmaster
started chanting in a dead language

& then foaming out of his eye sockets
but I know where we are & walked

out of the carnival’s tent when a bout
of cannibalism erupted & dropped to my knees

to bow my head to the dirt
& invite you to rise back into the balmy
mid-summer air.

Sam Gennett obtained a Bachelor of Arts in English from Lewis University. Her first chapbook, Schadenfreude, was published by dancing girl press in 2018. She currently edits for Witch Craft Magazine and resides in Chicago. She enjoys succulents, horror films, and unevenly bleaching her hair.

Note: Italicized line from the Yeah Yeah Yeah’s Fever to Tell