Devil’s Darning Needle
My troubles are legion. My troubles bide time on the tongues of clods. My
troubles swim the acid ocean, shellacked with superstition. Deathless. Sure to
My troubles are salted with cruel bedtime stories. My troubles are the
aftertaste of everything must mean. I mean devil and dinosaur, and so begin
my troubles. I mean double face of heal and mortify. I mean a story about
hubris. I mean a story about transformation. I mean bounty of fish and ill
omen of upending. With my tale comes my trouble. Barnacle on the tongue,
that splintered oar.
My troubles dangle raucous legs and lack respect for systems. System: World
unsighted. Magic trick that bleeds on impact. But my troubles never balk at
drawing blood. My troubles have it in them. To crush life worlds. To eat
infants. Teeth of how does this work. Glands of can we look inside.
Before I had myself—web of clear morning, so long coming—I had my
troubles and their tales like sirens. Kill the children, heal the children, row the
children to the other side. My troubles, how they wail from roof tops. How
they scribble over history with their fair weather demands.
Sara Biggs Chaney received her Ph.D. in English in 2008 and currently teaches first-year writing in Dartmouth's Institute for Writing and Rhetoric. Her chapbook, Ann Coulter’s Letter to the Young Poets, is forthcoming from dancing girl press in the Fall of 2014. You can read some of Sara’s recent poems in [PANK], inter/rupture, Luna Luna, Dr. T.J. Eckleburg Review, and elsewhere. Sara was a finalist for Best of the Net 2013. Catch up with her at her blog: sarabiggschaney.blogspot.com.