Jessica Hudson is a graduate teaching assistant working on her Creative Writing MFA at Northern Michigan University. She is an associate editor for Passages North. Her work has been published in The Pinch, Fractured Lit, and perhappened mag, among others. Read more at jessicarwhudson.wixsite.com/poet. Twitter: @JessicaRWHudson
Hypothesis
if a vampire were to breathe
eternal thirst into me, I’d never see myself
in a mirror or in this moist sunlight again
& between
my killer cheekbones, like a red hammock
slung between two petrified cherry trees,
I’d carve a multi-purpose grin & I’d never
wear it out
& in my toolbox of teeth
I’d have symmetrical incisors white like
the man in the moon when he’s full & canines
sharp as stilettos, stepping across the necks
of women like sand
& I think I’d be
a little gay, but they say everyone is once
they turn
& I’d never have
a period again, though I’d add “menstruate”
& “clitoris” to my vocabulary to frighten
the burlier appetizers (the faster the blood,
the more it lingers, like burgers)
& so
the years will torque down the centuries
like the moon’s fraternal twin, far & dark,
reflecting nothing
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