Sara Fitzpatrick

The Promise of Rot

Something goes off in the cellar. Radish goes
to sponge describing the marital arc—spice
and wood pith to puce paste, sockets cupping

for gone teeth, leather seeking the fond promise
of rot. Something goes off in the bush. Feathers
shake out in the shape of a hand, top hat dove

magic for the kids. A doe feeds too long away
from the fawn. Something goes off in a chest,
lace browning back before the antique bleach,

the tick tic of a pacemaker animating the throb
of useless flesh long after the fingers have gone
numb. Something goes off in a suicide vest

—the heart, always asking the time. North, creaks
the weathervane, there’s a north of everything.

In Chinese, maybe, it’s the direction of how we
get hurt, our radicalization. In every north, a war

is sorting out who is right, perpetual as rust.

________________________________________________________________________________________

Sara Fitzpatrick is author of a debut poetry collection, Bury Me in the Sky (Nixes Mate, March 2020). Her work has been published recently in The Tampa Review, The Night Heron Barks, XRAY and Anti-Heroin Chic. She lives in Santa Fe, New Mexico, where she works in animal welfare. Find her on Twitter @SaraFitzAuthor