Fawn's Head / Amy Thomas
dancing girl press, 2015
Amy Thomas earned her MFA in creative writing from the University of Notre Dame in 2011. A native Detroiter, she currently resides in South Bend, Indiana. Her poems explore the space between definitive points in time or identities, and attempts to haunt that plasma-zone through artifice, curatorship, and irreverence. Her work has previously appeared in decomP magazine, BlazeVox, SCUD, and Word Riot. A previous chapbook, Strange Language, was published through the howling wolf chapbook series in 2009.
from FAWN'S HEAD
my own spotted face slick with it. melted a penny in the craggy mess of it. deft hands made a room for it, frame of little teeth, whittled down to squared raw. shadow box, a jaw wired shut. the wire a length of honeyed antlers. he pulled from the deer one hair at a time, one tawny eye plucked as a cherry pit. swam there minted and coiled. placed between my lips like a sweet thing. his lung heaved out like a cello string, bass sigh. we’d constellate there. trade lengths of ribbon. every inch a clot hung there. the stream, blubbering tributary, leaking knots. left once a glimmering bonesaw. i’d crack open a bone there, knuckles deep in the marrow. like a sweet thing.