by Amy Shimshon-Santo
the year crawls toward an end
sharp knife between its teeth
& bleeding tongue
sharp knife between its teeth
& bleeding tongue
a year of vowels
displaced from their consonants,
zipped together
zipped together
by a three letter word
that is not good for children
& other living things
I walk to the edge of language
thin stick between my hands
holding a makeshift flag
colorless as the memory of water
scavenged from cotton
clothing of the departed
it is time to place the year inside
an urn, bury it in the Earth
lie down beside the unimaginable
hear the new year drumming
& dreaming itself into being, wanting
to be born
Dr. Amy Shimshon-Santo is a warm-blooded vertebrate with hair. She writes poetry, essays, performs spoken word, improvisation, and choreography. Read or listen to her poetry collections: Catastrophic Molting (2020), Even the Milky Way is Undocumented (2020), and look for her forthcoming book Random Experiments in Bioluminescence (2024). Teaching and facilitating trans-local community arts projects have been central to her social practice for 30+ years. She is available as a guest artist, arts educator, coach, and editor. Dr. A has been nominated for an Emmy Award and three Pushcart Prizes in poetry and creative non-fiction. She was a finalist for the Night Boat Poetry Prize, and earned a place in the U.S. Service Learning Hall of Fame. Connect with her at @shimshona / @amyshimshon