Jill Khoury


What's bolstered doesn't stay that way.
The strut collapses.
Eroded mortar makes the bricks collapse.
Bricks collapse because of an implosion.
A crowd has gathered to watch the implosion.
Some are shooting video.
The implosion has a website.

The cat destroys the rose petal by petal.
Freezer avalanche—vodka bottle ends in fragments.
A wind topples the easel.

It takes me a year to re-learn these skills : 1) Leave house 2) Take bus to store
3) Read list 4) Shop for items on list 5) Return to house.

I could fall at least ten feet.
Two stories up is survivable.
I hear.
Nine stories up. Could fall from right now.

I hear you from a height.
I hear you calling my name from a height.
While I examine the knife, I hear you naming me.
You flash some documentation, perhaps a ring.
I feel you through a fog. Your hands on my shoulders.

The door is alarmed. A code and a keypad.
In my action movie I break the code.
I slam my fist into the keypad.
I cut the yellow wire, and the red wire, and the blue wire.

Jill Khoury earned her MFA from The Ohio State University. Her poems have appeared or are forthcoming in numerous journals, including Blood Lotus, RHINO, and Inter|rupture. She has been nominated for two Pushcart Prizes and a Best of the Net award. Her chapbook Borrowed Bodies was released from Pudding House Press. You can find her at jillkhoury.com.

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