iss Erato embraces the open fourth grade
speller and offers the young scholars an eleventh hour
pneumatic [sic] device
remember there’s an ear
in your heart
flushed i pounce on the lapse
chaste as the nose of a kitten the eraser
creping the paper
ripping it
i smooth back the pleated wound
to write on what her
discretion allowed
she stood still stands still
behind the roof of her book her breastbreathing
waiting while
i rub out
and blow away in pink debris
an absurd hart started against a rib
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