IRENE CUNNINGHAM

★ ★ ★ ★

POETRY

WARNING: We are coming

You can hem us in, ring around us;
barricades are built to be broken.

Fists as pile-drivers stab the air, hang
on time as if stamped on retinas.

Depend on it: we will be there, are
always rising, activated by outrage.

We are magical realism: not monsters
but myth, born out of necessity.

Have your cake but know who starves;
if the crumbs are light don’t breathe.

You might feel tall, imagine us ants,
but we burrow, undermine foundations

bleed in florid luminescence, show
ourselves as human weakness… but

red is the ink of corrections; we edit
your work, demand an auditor. Now.

Irene Cunningham’s recent publications: In Between Hangovers, Picaroon, The Poetry Cafe, South Bank Poetry, I am not a Silent Poet, Former Cactus, Riggwelter, and The Lake. She thinks about the outside world but isn’t often there. Check out her website and her present blog.

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