A Coda Will Bring Us To A Convincing Conclusion

By Carrie Lorig / Issue 4

For first violin:

Inside the two speech

bubbles of your collar,

I wrote.

For second violin:

I noticed the smoke outside

your mouth was long enough

to put into a ponytail.

For first:

Light shed uncontrollably

on the couch.

For second:

I drank heavily

out of your thumbprints.

For first:

Inspired by practice

heard through a closed door,

I put in my plastic fangs.

For second:

Something in the bat’s face said,

“Every radar tastes metal

in distant objects.”

For first:

Its face said something like,

“Trampled Blacktop,”

when caves showed

up under your arms.

For second:

You pitched in a growl

and a shout.

Echoes come out

ground up.

I brushed grains

off my mouth.

For first:

Wait for noise

enough to braid.

Wait for a man

at the absolute end of the line

to moisten what he has

aimed at you.

Carrie Lorig is living in Madison, Wisconsin for the second time. She came back for her slightly used record player and to ask schools nicely to be a part of their MFA programs. She still thinks fondly of Korea, though, and of the airport in Athens where you can look at old Greek bones and urn shards while you wait. She has been published or is forthcoming in elimae, decomP, and Word Riot.