In a Sense
/ Judith Kahl
They have planted trees in the nightclubs.
Studies have shown that a lack of oxygen
may be connected to poor decision making,
insensibility, immobility and sudden loss of
virginity,
which would explain why I feel the urge to hold
my breath when I see someone who takes
my breath away.
It’s all just as well for the cloakrooms couldn’t hold
our rotting tongues anymore. Now the words
dangle off twigs,
shaken by bass.
We are nightshades, blind and deaf,
clinging to tree bark, feeling for light switches.
When we find them we press,
turning on and around the light until
morning swallows what’s left of our peace.
Judith is a poet, writer, translator, reader,
injury-prone basketball player, friendly chef,
failed pastry artist, angry barista, voluntary
proof reader, jellyfish enthusiast, doodler-cumvandal, inept seamstress, daring hairdresser,
mediocre sister, absent daughter.