Issue Fifteen - October 2009


By Kim Secunda

What do you use to stuff the crack under death’s door?

plain dirty laundry sweet sour and constant
the neverworn wedding dress
left hand gloves
ruined pantyhose
wrinkles of grayed sheet
the white on white of semen on a tee shirt from under the bed
the red of siren scream?

Do you use
the comfortable Sunday perfume of waffles
reek of infection
a lace of torn fluttering sobs?

And do you
pack it
with wads of women’s hair gleaned from stolen hairbrushes
webs of tangled blood thread grandmother pressed into your lax hand
the bowling pin empties of all those EAT ME DRINK MEs?

a pyramid of newspaper clippings
check stubs and matchbooks
or the fold and refold
origami of love letters

Do you seek
to seal
with regiment stacks of filched communion wafers
heaped bones from all the flesh you ever ate
and the order of your day?

do you use
simple duct tape
with its silver back too dull to mirror
kneeling fumbles
its cloudy glint will


your eye in its thick fragile skull
reflect back the shadow
of you there on your knees
and give back some hint
as to which
side of this door do you find yourself on

and is this stuff
to keep
in or out
our familiar friend?

What do you use to stuff the crack under death’s door?