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Maybe Another Spell Might

By Mikal Wix

Thank you for your time, I know

Is what I’m supposed to say

Because I feel how tough it is

To leave the room last after

Having just arrived,

So it’s au revoir instead, like the Bastille

In Paris, or the Gulag in Kolyma,

Just a few million moments more then

To rehearse prerecorded mimes

And relive sympathetic goodbyes

Hushed in soup ration lines,

And like the onion, each slice

Drives you deeper inside, or finds you

Fleeing the cutting board floor,

But the butcher’s glove helps

To avoid the cuts, and yet with a clock

Hanging over our heads

The dish concludes just the same

And with a sizzling burst of shame.

So warm regards to the machine,

The thing that came and went in forms

With such a clever advent,

Now flees the heavy white space

As if its pregnancy could ever be left out

Of the couvade custom of submission

To ritual purification

Through fasting and taboos of passion,

All the elements of lasting lament.


Mikal Wix grew up in the South. The place seeded insights into many outlooks, including visions of a revenant from the closet. He studies literature and anthropology and has recent work in Penumbra Literary Journal, Berkeley Poetry Review, Angel Rust Magazine, Tahoma Literary Review, Adelaide Literary Magazine, Hyacinth Review, & works as a science editor. You can find Mikal on Instagram and Twitter.


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