Two Poems by Emily Nicol





I have been feeling
very much like a worm, lately.

Small and writhing,
need to be beneath
dirt, a larger filth.

To roll in silt, to avoid
the pull of light, some
other euphoria.

Very much a deeper
downwards, warm
sodden womb-like.

Virginal worms,
soft round and

pink, laid out in loam.




For Now I Think of Teeth

I have always wondered
about wearing the dead.
Hair lockets, mourning rings.
But have you hung the teeth?
Have they rattled around your neck?

Pulling myself apart, I should like
to give my teeth to my mother,
each split in half,
to be seeded and sown.

If someone should dance in my skin,
let it un-fit them. 


 Emily is a graduate student and bookseller in Northern California.

find her on twitter and instagram: @johnbrownsbabe


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