Ventriloquist
       

The old wound is speaking
again through my back,

            carving its blood alphabet.

For days I can only crawl
from one side of pain

            to another, leashed
            to lightning—

            neon shooting
            through my jaw.

The pills and the pills,
white circular selves,

            the slippery self
            slipping, unselfing.

Remember to relax
my teeth (Relax your teeth).

Kundalini recoiling then
lashing forth, spring

            of metallic hisses.

My voice like a voyeur,
no, a ventriloquist

            fisting up my spine,
            forcing a moan.

My mouth cracks
open, unhinged, thrown

            by herniated suns
            teething on bone.

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Copyright © 2019 Hadara Bar-Nadav All rights reserved
from Colorado Review
Reprinted by Verse Daily® with permission