Leveler Poetry Journal
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On Comedy


There is another seal

Pressed airless between body and bed

That lemon incense still smokes, plume branch




toward a fortnight in March,

a firehouse at blinding high noon

Prom season


at the canteen

Coffee, and waffles with honey.

In the motel, I blanched a birthday bouquet of roses

Lay in that secret place, folded like an L.


In a dark, made of chiffon and cotton,

La Virgen sat upright in the mirror of my mother’s vanity.

My choir folder, its gold-wrapped

corners, waited


for the place we were pressed, and still received miracles:

the comedy special on HBO from 15 years prior

Static rolling, muted,

not even a whisper


I worry about the brain in this way

Its small wheels silently tearing up the parking lot

Trying hard to slice a thickening

rind with the butterfly knife


Waiting for language to

transcribe what we buried- no fanfare or ceremony

Only holding its name

in the palm of cupped hands.

Alexus Erin