It was better to look up at the night, rosebuds
edged with ascent, a little escape
to carry between my legs. I became panic,
over and over my blood seized in the slope
of irony, glad to be burning
in the dimness, a bad dream that dared to dance
pretty. Remember—it was my hands
holding open the TV, the train, the magazines.
You might damn me for my sullen months,
gentle and low. I put my years away
from the windows, leave myself anger
on the floor. Silence and teeth stood red,
bit down, my monster splitting
inside me—awake and the same every night.
This is an erasure poem. Source text: Andrews, V. C. Flowers in the Attic. Pocket Books Paperback ed. New York: Pocket Books, 2014. 267-280. Print.
E. Kristin Anderson is a poet and glitter enthusiast living mostly at a
Starbucks somewhere in Austin, Texas. A Connecticut College alumna with a
B.A. in classical studies, Kristin’s work has appeared in many magazines
including The Texas Review
, The Pinch
, Barrelhouse Online
, and FreezeRay Poetry
. She is the editor of Come as You
, an anthology of writing on 90s pop culture (Anomalous Press) and is
the author of nine chapbooks of poetry including Pray Pray Pray: Poems I
wrote to Prince
in the middle of the night (Porkbelly Press), Fire in the
(Grey Book Press), 17 seventeen XVII
(Grey Book Press), and Behind
All You’ve Got
(Semiperfect Press). Kristin is a poetry reader at Cotton
Xenomorph and an editorial assistant at Sugared Water. Once upon a time
she worked the night shift at The New Yorker
. Find her online at
and on twitter at @ek_anderson.
More by E. Kristin Anderson:
Times Was a Seed.