excerpt

One Final Point

Swallowing
is a misnomer.
Do nothing
of the sort.
Do not sneeze
or cough.
Do not startle
or tense up.
Stifle your gag.
Pray. Release
the inner rings
of your parts.
Make your soft
tissues trust you.
Make the violence
feel like love.
Make your mouth
water for steel.
Make your belly
believe you are
feeding it.
Listen only to
your will. Repeat
in front of every
audience you can
assemble, reveling
as the jeers yield,
as they will,
to silence
until, one day,
you get excited,
go too fast.
The tip grazes
a rib. You startle,
the blade slips.
In one moment,
betray the hushed
with a simple prick
to your heart.

ABOUT THE POET

Emily F. Kerlin has published poems in journals such as Bridge, Cider Press Review, Storm Cellar, Sheila-Na-Gig, Blue Mountain Review, Split Rock Review and the MacGuffin. Her book, Twenty-One Farewells, won Minerva Rising’s 2023 chapbook contest. She lives in Urbana, Illinois where she teaches the difference between “chicken” and “kitchen” to English learners. Find her at emilykerlin.com.