WE EACH OF US CARRY
We each of us carry the murder
back with us into our houses apartments or townhomes
There to unwrap it and inspect it
To shake it gently, it makes no
sound
It is our murder now and we
have it in our kitchens
It is a thing that grows without
growing
It creeps or spreads or slides
down the block turns the streets and seeps out further
Eventually through the whole
neighborhood until we all have it
Each of us some portion
Meanwhile it remains mute
dumb and stupid like a stone
Look for yourself it’s hard dumb
and stupid A dense stupid stone
I carry with me a dense stupid
stone
You are curious about the details
I will not share the details
I take out the murder-stone
I wait on it
It does not produce aphorisms
I picture the murder-stone in
other people’s houses or apartments or townhomes
I wonder which aphorisms are
sliding out of their murder-stones
Smart knowledge sliding out like
thin strips of typed-on paper
What meaningful observations
are occurring in other people’s households
They I hope have the talent to
bring life or meaning to the murder-stone
The murder-spot is an invisible
energy that continues to rock
That continues to disappear
That continues to ruminate in the
kitchens families homes
A death or a murder disappears
eventually
It becomes a story
Best case scenario the people left
standing make it into a story with some type of good
And eventually they put it to rest
so they or it can rest
Eventually into history and into
the ground
Best case scenario it disappears
And doesn’t continue to pulsate
like an invisible energy or a weighting pain or an ongoing fear or a persistent and
inscrutable stone
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STATUES OR KNOTTED ROPES OR SCORED STONE
Statues or knotted ropes or scored stone or magnetic tapes or marked paper or grooved plastic or painted fibers or braided filaments
Are devices for storing information across time
A person is a device
For storing information across time
The parent melts or dissolves
And up springs the child
A person
Is a phenomenal device
That assembles itself from dirt and air
The Greek gods of ancient history
And the Sumerian gods of ancient history
Glisten
In the distance at the far edge of time
With familiar shoulders elbows ears and eyes
Their crisp or frail emotions
Coursing down like cobwebs or hair
Triumphant
Is how it feels
To enter the river of human history
Parents
May drizzle a warm sweet attitude
When discussing their handsome children
Having replicated myself
Personhood will reassemble in my children
I could desiccate and die
Having assembled some children
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EMILY BLUDWORTH DE BARRIOS is the author of Splendor, a book of poems from H_NGM_N Books, and Extraordinary Power, a chapbook from Factory Hollow Press. The poems above appear in the chapbook, Women, Money, Children, Ghosts, from Sixth Finch. Emily’s poems have most recently been published in Jellyfish, New Delta Review, The Nervous Breakdown, Sixth Finch, and Tender. She was born in Houston and raised in Egypt, the United States, and Venezuela; she currently lives in Houston. More information can be found at www.emilybludworthdebarrios.com.
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Read more by Emily Bludworth de Barrios
Three poems in B O D Y
Poem at Sixth Finch
Poem at The Nervous Breakdown
Two poems in jellyfish magazine