A building swallowed me in its gray hollows,
I mean hallways. The beige walls bloomed pink
then red in my mind, ripening fruit with the spicy
stench of verbatim, I mean Vibernum—each berry
a bomb, a qualm I had with his teeth, the sheer
number of them. That’s not right. He was dear
to me, supposedly. I was always lying on the floor
of his wisdom while he spoke over me, ratcheting
up the idioms: never look a gift boy in the mouth
or one stab in the mind is worth two in the chest.
It was a kind of test: getting out of the building’s
mazy walls and sawdust floors. I’d been there before,
I knew that, but couldn’t make the way out make
sense. My sweat’s scent unhinged me as I stumbled
(toward a paltry light, a hoarse wind), searching
for the drawer, I mean the door, I mean my skin.
Gaslight
Danielle Cadena Deulen is an assistant professor for the graduate creative writing program at Georgia State University in Atlanta, and hosts Lit from the Basement a literary podcast and radio show (at KMUZ 100.7 FM). She is the author of a memoir, The Riots; two poetry collections, Our Emotions Get Carried Away Beyond Us and Lovely Asunder; and a poetry chapbook, American Libretto.