by Lane Falcon
It always felt like me,
the one in the middle
of all this empirical evidence,
each damage, a state in my body’s
isolated nation, integral
to the whole.
*
This is what I know:
every wrong has space at its center,
a closet where something
else crouches.
*
We are all our own
universe, a microcosm of the greater
universe, and something
sets everything in motion.
*
I am the smallest matryoshka doll
in the stack— that space
inside me was sacred.
Lane Falcon’s poems have been published in American Poetry Journal, The Carolina Quarterly, The Chattahoochee Review, Harbor Review, The Journal, Mayday Magazine, New York Quarterly, Passengers Journal, Poet Lore, Qu, Rhino, Rust & Moth, Spoon River Poetry Review, Sheila-na-gig, Swwim Everyday, Tar River Poetry, WWPH Writes, and more. Her manuscript “Deep, Blue Odds” was selected as a finalist for the 2023 Black Lawrence Press Hudson Prize and the 2022 Lightscatter Press prize, and semi-finalist for the 2022 Tupelo Press Berkshire Prize and the Inaugural Laura Boss Narrative Poetry Prize. She lives in Alexandria, VA with her two children and dog.
Emerge Literary Journal 