Amy Baskin
—
unseated
—a view from an impairment
where is the glove composite compostment department
the hood looks like—
what’s the word—accordion? an instructment—
a musical fold
head rests on the seat—shock through my arms trunk legs
fuel is leaking from me
a slow drip under the mind my
engine is unseated
help me I am off—I was here and
now I'm here
see my face and body exit the driver door
not a scrape bruise or break
what did that big man just say
iam glaad yer okei
Visual disturbance
The air is salted, tingling
in a red way
through the porthole, light projects
on my eyelids.
What sea bird pecks through
my mind, prodding pain,
nesting in the knuckle of my fisted skull,
scratching hatchmarks
on ganglion ropes? I cannot summon
the spell to shoo it.
And when it flutters
away on its own accord,
and I scrub my galley clean
of feathers and droppings,
it homes back
through the wine-dark sea.
Amy Baskin’s work is currently featured in journals including VoiceCatcher, Friends Journal and Cirque. She is a 2019 Oregon Literary Arts Fellowship recipient. When she’s not writing, she matches international students at Lewis & Clark College with local residents to help them feel welcome and at home during their stay.
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