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  • The American Poetry Review

    THREE POEMS

    Jul 01, 2020 3 minutes
    ANNELYSE GELMAN

    Museum

    She was a security guard and even though her uniform was black I could seeIt was covered in blood, the marble floor was covered in blood, it wasSlowly pooling out from the space where HER HAND used to be, I said, then I started to say, YOUR HAND, but it felt wrongTo call it HER HAND, now that it was gone, now that thereAnd that HAND was like THE MOUSE I killed, once, by sealing it in a Ziploc bagAnd its mouse trap, too, and its smear of glue, hardened around its legs, she said, MY CAT, as if the cat were a part of her bodyAnd that was what life was something that could possess something

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