Two Poems by Karin Bevilacqua Fazio Littlefield

There’s a mass in your chest

Mass is a Mack truck
that blasts you off the road
obliterates fall days with coffee and
philosophical discussions on the roof.

It’s an atom bomb,
flattening the world.
It’s the twilight zone
and the upside down.

Mass is an extinction level event,
an asteroid headed to earth.
It’s the last cry of a triceratops
65 million years ago.

Did you hear me?

Mass is my aunt’s friend
with no hair and sunken cheeks
who gives me a book
that I don’t read.

I’m scared to touch her book,
like it’s contagious, like
the moment I open it,
I’ll fall in.

*

Intervals of Time

Time is an isolated woman.
Time wakes with the bird of life.
Time can consume tides but never
becomes full; its belly is an open window.
Time gives the woman a dying garden.
Time grows in winter, runs in summer.
Time rules as a woman, but not the woman herself.
Time is oracular.
It continually replenishes the tide the woman invented
to keep her sins hidden.
She is without saving grace.

*

Karin Bevilacqua Fazio Littlefield is a Queer Disabled Sicilian-American poet and playwright from Brooklyn, NY. Her plays have been performed across the United States as well as in Canada, France, and Sicily. She has been published in Clockhouse Review, EAB Publishing’s Midnight Circus, and Lotus-eater. She is currently pursuing an MFA at the Mississippi University for Women.