Janann Dawkins

The Ones Who Got Away

There are men you can't catch. There are men
who sidle down a winding sidewalk
when you try to run your fingers through them.
Ghosts race their shadows. They dart
in and out of alleyways, their faces
faintly captured in a bistro's picture window
as your eyes chase after.

A Prayer for Winter

I have learned to breathe like fabric,
to twirl in weak December sunshine.

As age comes, I am agnostic.
I fantasize about domesticity, lust,
hands on skin, aprons, pets.
I have learned that no matter what we believe

our breath will continue.
In December, my breath is crystalline;
my hands are gloved. I think of serving
Christmas dinners with these hands,
carving turkey, scooping corn,
petting my future daughter on the head

while laughing. My breath would be warm,
hers, young. I do not see a husband.
I am in flux now, only yet feeling the tock
of my biology, just wanting to feel the skin
of infants, not needing.
I do not ask God for a man.

CP

Janann Dawkins lives in Ann Arbor. Her writing has appeared in decomP, Existere, Mezzo Cammin, Phoebe, Two Review and other fine places. Leadfoot Press published her chapbook, Micropleasure,  in 2008. She has twice been nominated for a Pushcart Prize.

Janann Dawkins

Famous Last Words

Let's have a really good red wine tonight*,
let's let our dinner settle in our stomachs,
let's stutter around in the den, tender tiptoes
dimpling an utter footstep into dusk,
arch stretching, rack of heaven,
a hardened halo tracked in dust.
Let's run to Reno.
Let's try breaking records
against the walls. Let's suck wind
and die. Let's take our hands
and lace them like lashes.

Let's evade our capture.

—
* These eight words are said to be the last Carl Jung ever spoke.

CP

Janann Dawkins lives in Ann Arbor. Her work has appeared or is forthcoming in decomP, Gloom Cupboard, Gutter Eloquence, Shoots and Vines, Danse Macabre, among others. Her chapbook, Micropleasure, was published by Leadfoot Press in 2008.

Janann Dawkins

Like Magic

His antics are a monkey
in distress. Clouds of powder
everywhere. In this mise en scène

the players play the game. An explosion
and rubble on the floor.
A perfume bottle.

This is the self we all bring
to the table, tapped in exhaustion,
myriad words all over the floor
like minions. Distress
erects our defenses,
cardboard-thin.

CP

Janann Dawkins lives in Ann Arbor. Her work has appeared or is forthcoming in decomP, Gloom Cupboard, Gutter Eloquence, Shoots and Vines, and Danse Macabre, among others. Her chapbook, Micropleasure, was published by Leadfoot Press in 2008.