Night / Light by Jill Bergantz Carley

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Night / Light

by Jill Bergantz Carley

My tongue unwinds: a woman who eats fire and instead of curling my lips closed extinguishing the flames when I open my mouth I light the room up with worries a lighthouse beaming all the things that could be wrong with the world into the fog of night in our bedroom you warm and snoring next to me the dog soft at our feet I make you press the pads of your fingers into the fatty flank of my neck until it hurts good tethers me to our marriage to this Sunday to a world where the ways in which disaster strikes aren’t strung together square knots in silk scarves up the sleeve of a dark magician unraveling and unraveling a firehose on full-bore a chainsaw dull and dangerous screaming away

If it is the time when I’ll be okay not riddled with cancer repeating the scars of your life over and over to you a broken record body a broken body and broken body a


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Jill Bergantz Carley makes her home in Calaveras County, California, where she lives a half mile from the stoplight in a sweet town five blocks long. A Pushcart Prize nominee, her poetry has appeared in ENTROPY, OPOSSUM, Silver Needle, & is forthcoming from 580 Split, Okay Donkey, Collective Unrest, and elsewhere.  She’s a Tupelo Press 30/30 poet, with a new poem published daily in March. You can follow her as she writes her way through the Ides & beyond at

(Pronouns: she/her)