Crowd Crush

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Crowd Crush

by Emilia Phillips
Southern Cultures, Vol. 23, No. 4: Winter 2017

"if I could get away / with it without laughing."

I need to start being honest
with my constituents—the mirror

and hemlock, the just barely parted
blinds and, behind them,

my naked body in its easy labors
of making

coffee and sighing heavily.
I dare someone to accidentally

glimpse my nude
pantomime of minding my own

business. Sometimes I’ve got to be angry to be in
the mood for being

angry. Some people would release
a sex tape

before their taxes. How do I
account for the bottom line

of my booty I have to look over
my shoulder to see

in the mirror? Or the clutch in my gut every
time I see his hands, strong

in their aching, flex absentmindedly when
he

writes something down? Every time I see
her bottom lip so swollen 

that her lipstick prints upside-
down on her chin,

I want to take impressions
of the Times with silly putty,

the news suddenly
RAW [ ] STUC

[ ] MSIRORRET,
a truth I’d stretch—

if I could get away
with it without laughing.

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