What Grows Inside of Us Will Barely Be Preserved

[you] let this surplus become fossil
petrified : identified
record of tremor whispers
you’ve never seen the surface
from underneath before
cliffs wash out along a western shore
a whole organism preserved
hard parts / partial remains in a nearly unchanged condition
indicating how quickly we are buried
ocean falls into me. breathing is labored [at least there is still air]
each time a tempest gathers the sea’s song assembles
[everyone] is careless with the body
until they are dusting off an/other
your discarded cave is the only evidence we have. exodus imprinted where something has dissolved and still, cavity


Body, so sea-water full-bloated. I need a puncture. I need a professional. I hold the stain of [you] in me. [Everyone] has said it of us. We are that tiny bit more electrified. That there is still a light in us. Something passing between. I say we let the world shape us. You say why not make this for ourselves. Turning so deeply into myself. Turning in motion, but maybe, turning in becoming. My consciousness will never fully belong to me as long as [there is still air] between the particles we both inhabit. [At least] they are coming closer.

blue oval
quiet [air]
dab of cerulean
Unleashed bleed, I am still wringing my hands trying to control the great spill of [you]

How your ferrous core collects the fragments of the dissolved. [You] might hold something of my former lover, and so become the one I love now. How diluted are we. How magnetic. How many bulls could I have loved. Now and in a departed state. Another deadlock with faith, yet I am saying thank [you] ten times under.

[you]: Andromeda, closest but still a fractal tessellation
[everyone]: Has said the twelfth house holds my surrender
A black hole looks like a blood cell: [at least there is still air]

Danielle Susi is the author of the chapbook The Month in Which We Are Born (dancing girl press, 2015). Her writing has appeared in Knee-Jerk Magazine, Hobart, The Rumpus, and elsewhere. Her full-length manuscript A River Always Ends at a Mouth, has been selected as a semi-finalist for both the Lexi Rudnitsky First Book Prize at Persea Books and the Hudson Prize at Black Lawrence Press. She received her MFA in writing from The School of the Art Institute of Chicago. She currently lives and works in Utah. Find her online at daniellesusi.com