by Karen Schubert
When I say fish, I see the red knife, the violence, the trashcan. What we take for escape hatch is the melancholy leaf dying, the baby we lost in a dream, something we bought with found money. We take our lights and circle and circle, saying love. Saying monster. Saying no.
Karen Schubert’s poetry and prose are forthcoming in Gently Read Literature, MUSE, Penguin Review, Artful Dodge and Wisconsin Poets’ Calendar 2012, and nominated for 2011 Best of the Web. Her chapbooks are Bring Down the Sky (Kattywompus, forthcoming) and The Geography of Lost Houses (Pudding House, 2008). She has an MFA from the Northeast Ohio Master of Fine Arts, teaches writing at YSU and Mill Creek Park, and blogs at karenschubert.blogspot.com.