3 Poems

Prairie M. Faul

A measure of f(l)ailing

My body as foreign object

As project of homeostasis

The seat of my soul

Sits in medicine cabinets

In vials and needles

This is phantom limb

Coursing from head to toe

This is defiant flesh

Irreducible to quantity

Or measurement

This is flayed skin




Till nerves are exposed

Till mind is exposed

Till the depth of exposure

Leaves ‘self’ open to air

Open to the whims of winds

Open to chance of corrosion

My body as open field

I have not walked in

My name as foreign place

repeated in hopes of familiarity

This is the struggle

towards comfort

the mania of recognizing it

as not-quite-right

This is that closest object

held in hand

in crux of mind

This is all flesh and bone


I am trying to understand

And they will call this progress, too

You are rock
are stone
are placeholder of superlatives
this is what bravery looks like,
what strength is made of,
perseverance down to the bedrock
you are stone
atop hill
plummeting down
possible dissolution
toward fractures from fault lines
from an inertia borne of
external forces
you are stone
you are cold facade
with indentations
of another’s choosing
with markings from environment
with erosion as your marker of time
you are stone
and no words
about the grace of your plummet
can make it
not so

I don’t trust your sight

I want to kiss the corners
Of your eyes
They are raw and angry
Swollen from an exchange
Of salinity or blows
Coiffed collar
Lighting the room
Food has fueled a fire so bright
I delight in the heat of its periphery
Tell me of the one you want to kiss
Who holds the space around you
So precisely
You can feel their release days away
These are distinct Like sea and storm
Taut and shattered pieces
A windowed scenery
and the be-speckled caulk to chide over
an essence flickering hungrily and its shadowy facade

Prairie M. Faul is unsure of her origins but longs to live in the old Cajun field her name was born in. Her work can be found in Entropy Mag, On the Veranda literary journal, and wherever softness is at its most elusive. Her collected trans-angst can be found at www.motsduprairie.tumblr.com.