I am the girl who had my mouth sewn shut. I whir in swarms, all teeth and unquiet, my whole body, all shrieking, all radioactive, a ray of night. I am the woman collating bones. A nervous system brought back to life, a little disaster burned up; a trigger of childhood, a geography of needles. My own voice. This is a cento. Sources: John Berryman: “Dreamsong 22: Of 1826,” “Dreamsong 16,” “Dreamsong 17,” “Dreamsong 57,” “Dreamsong 52: Silent Song,” “Dreamsong 51,” “Dreamsong 50,” “Dreamsong 30,” and “Dreamsong 67.” Frank O’Hara: “On Seeing Larry Rivers’ Washington Crossing the Delaware at the MoMa,” “To a Poet,” “The Hunter,” and “Homosexuality.”
Sarah Nichols lives and writes in Connecticut. She is the author of eight chapbooks, including She May Be a Saint (Porkbelly Press, 2019), and Dreamland for Keeps (Porkbelly, 2018.) Her poems can also be found in Yes, Poetry, Rogue Agent, Drunk Monkeys, and Ghost City Review.
