America whispered to me, Let me get closer to your sadness.
I unbuttoned my shirt and pressed America’s hands to my lace
cups. America struggled briefly with the hook & eye.
I looked upon the thinning hair of America. My nipples shrank
to pink stones inside the open mouth of America.
I don’t know why you’re rushing, I told America. This is the prettiest
part of the drive. America hands me a fish to hold, but I am already
the fish that swims inside itself. I am the perfect hook
to catch a merica. I step into my own sad mouth,
where the foremilk badlands & hindcream kiss feed.
Emily Vizzo, Credit Joseph Campbell

Emily Vizzo

Emily Vizzo is a San Diego poet, journalist, and educator whose work has appeared or is forthcoming in FIELD, The Journal, North American Review, The Normal School, and Blackbird. Her essay, “A Personal History of Dirt,” was listed as a notable essay for Best American Essays 2013. A San Diego Area Writing Project fellow, Emily serves as assistant managing editor at Drunken Boat, and volunteers with VIDA, Poetry International, and Hunger Mountain. She completed her MFA at the Vermont College of Fine Arts, and teaches yoga at the University of San Diego.

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