Psychotic break
by Sarah Neal McCurry
When you're a woman and you're off
your rocker like a turtle who lost
the shell it never knew existed until
it was gone and bald like a woman
shaves her head in February
which is a hard word to say
like a Germanic sound comes
from the back of the throat where you
feel sound itching its way out
of the mouth which created it like the angels
your brain created convinced
you your soon-to-be-wife was
sex-trading children and keeping them
in the secret basement you could never
find like a sense of peace like the shelter
dogs who never know love and safety
like a woman who is afraid of being touched
wants to wear a bag on her head like children
at Halloween are ghosts like the ancestors
are now begging to be remembered
like the last elephant on the planet
without a mate like the woman used to be
those snowed-in years trapped talking
to an empty kitchen where she could feel
angels hover to hear every word
like winged shadows she could never get rid of
like a turtle who can never get
rid of its shell tries to anyway tries to run
away from itself so it can finally be alone
your rocker like a turtle who lost
the shell it never knew existed until
it was gone and bald like a woman
shaves her head in February
which is a hard word to say
like a Germanic sound comes
from the back of the throat where you
feel sound itching its way out
of the mouth which created it like the angels
your brain created convinced
you your soon-to-be-wife was
sex-trading children and keeping them
in the secret basement you could never
find like a sense of peace like the shelter
dogs who never know love and safety
like a woman who is afraid of being touched
wants to wear a bag on her head like children
at Halloween are ghosts like the ancestors
are now begging to be remembered
like the last elephant on the planet
without a mate like the woman used to be
those snowed-in years trapped talking
to an empty kitchen where she could feel
angels hover to hear every word
like winged shadows she could never get rid of
like a turtle who can never get
rid of its shell tries to anyway tries to run
away from itself so it can finally be alone
Sarah Neal McCurry received her MFA in Poetry Writing from Sarah Lawrence College. Her poems appear or are forthcoming in: North American Review, Stone Highway Review, The Ilanot Review, Anthem Journal, Almost Five Quarterly, Wilde, Sinister Wisdom, Wicked Alice, ROAR, and elsewhere. Her chapbook, Speak So It Anchors You, was just published by Kattywampus Press. She resides outside Nashville, TN with her wife, four dogs and two cats.
