First, your pain, like being on meat hooks.
Next, each false assurance:
normal, normal, normal, normal.
Put the outsize screen to sleep – white snake –
let us unsee it.
Dismantle the table where they stretched you,
attach their springs to our sneakers.
Back to the peculiar studio, this time I tell him,
“No.” I hand you back your clothes.
Sequences like funnels doors like valves,
you hand me trust, I hand you up.
Unawake and unasleep, unspeaking courses
down your cheeks.
Oh, speed me further yet, back to the patient gene.
Let me implore it – stay true.
Let Aaron’s miracle be reversed
– unbend –
and staff us comfort still.
Amy Crutchfield is a poet living in Melbourne. Her work has been published in APJ, Westerly, foam:e, Island, The Age and The Poetry Review and is forthcoming in the Canberra Times. A selection of her poems were published in side by side translation in China in the poetry journal Enclave. She won the 2020 Gwen Harwood Poetry Prize.