“I turn thirteen this year, & everyone says I'm

the next sacrifice. They begin planning the

ceremony, holding auditions for who will

sound the gong, who will tie my limbs.

The morning of my last day I beat the dirt

& scream, why must it be this way? The queen

of monsters will enjoy this one, they say.

I wish you all were dead, I yell. Then they tie

my arms for real & start dancing. The monster

queen soon comes & unties me. I hate them,

I tell her as she carries me into the forest, I

hate my parents. But she must not understand,

she just pets me until my hair comes out. She

pets me until I am old like them.”

Trente Ans Ou La Vie En Rose, Raoul Dufy, 1931

I decide to move out again, into just one

corner. It's hard, but I choose the pink one,

with the pink painting & clear vase of pink

flowers. So now everything else is behind me &

soon I'll have no idea of what's taking place.

There could be a wife who has cold pancakes

on Sundays, children with wooden toys who

grow up, a whole town awaiting a birth. & I'll

be left alone with my work. Right now it's a

dance piece in which I take off all my clothes

& quietly become a triangle.

© Mike Kravolich

Copyright © 2016, Otis Nebula Press. All rights reserved.


Jon Boisvert grew up in southeastern Wisconsin and now lives in Oregon. He's a graduate of the Independent Publishing Resources Center's certificate program, and of other programs, too. His first book, Born, is forthcoming on Airlie Press. You can sometimes see his new poems and drawings and stuff at