Malak Mattar, Untitled (detail), 2024, charcoal on paper
Sickness
Sometimes it feels good.
Layers of fur wrap around me.
My flesh grows heavy.
There is no energy to worry.
The bones & bitterness
grow soft and disappear.
At night, a flower closes.
Inside a caterpillar wheezes
in the sweet, stuffy air.
Kim Connell is working on a novel while living in New York. (updated 1977)