Poetry By Mackenzie Carignan

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aliquot

if the stars were inside  of  us, there would  be warm  spots:
places where our bodies could hold together tighter than a
galaxy. the dazzle the dark  ignites.  when we  count silently,
the  numbers  still tick,  moments  still  feeding  the rupture,
your name on the tip of the moon.
.

in my  body,  mitochondria  fight  to  attend  the ceremony. I
love the language that’s  yet to  be born. you are  loose with
your words, mouth a  saturnalian red. a shadow  in a ring  of
dust.  your  kiss  a  lesion  I  can’t  quite  cast  shadows  on.  a
scar in the shape  of your  mouth, the open door  where  the
fire escaped.
.

the first time  you  held  my hand,  we  sat on  a  fence, wood
splintering under our feet, matching our  fingers, a  pile that
choked  and   shook  me.  how   long   did  it  take  for  you  to
touch  me  again,  distance  buoying  up   your  thin,  slippery
voice?  I  spoke   to   you    without   my    skin.   you   describe
mitosis  as  if  it  were  the  closest   thing   to  love.  as  if,  like
nuclei, we are all we are capable of holding.






surrender knife

i.
outer world, white confusion. at the roundabout, the ice
carries  the  dark  car  sideways.   smell   of  spearmint  in
wormwood. the slippage, a silent  alignment.  train in the
distance gives warning.

ii.
why the friction? 
why the resonance? 
why the slow retraction, 
orbital, 
the red streaks, 
then missing, 
now hold me here.

iii.
he speaks of repair. the healing helix we spin in.

iv.
aren’t we defined by our lack? 
girl without shoes. 
boy without bruises.

v.
this morning’s snow  was surprising.  it  licked  my  window
like a heartbeat. you  were late to school that day, sugar  in
your pocket, numbers trailing  behind  you  like a  coastline.
the heartbreak that ties a slip knot, the feather that lost its
bird.

​



Mackenzie Carignan (she, her) is owner and founder of Creative Vision Lab, a creativity and writing coaching practice in Broomfield, CO. She is co-editor-in-chief of Switchback Books, a small feminist press that recently turned 20 years old. She has a Ph.D. in Creative Writing from University of Illinois at Chicago, and her collection, a house without a roof is open to the stars, is available from Black Radish Books. Her chapbook, someone somewhere is running, is available from Dancing Girl Press. Her work has appeared in lines+stars, Jet Fuel Review, Another Chicago Magazine, Hayden’s Ferry Review, Poetry is Currency, Dusie, South Dakota Review and many other publications, and she has new work upcoming in Blood + Honey. Locally, she chairs the Broomfield Arts, History, and Cultural Council to promote the literary arts within her community. She enjoys coaching people to help them make space for creativity, rebellion, and authenticity in their lives, work, and family spaces.