A cold in january
By Devony Hof
• • •
sickness is a hostile womb
strands of snot hang across lamps,
glistening in the cold light of a new year
old christmas decorations dangle like tattered wigs
I cough up hours in phlegmy balls while
radiators gurgle
curled up, I could pretend the blanket
was a hand on my cheek
in the fur of a teddy bear, I smell my infant nightmares
but the blanket does not tell me to forget
go back to sleep
hush
during my hibernation, bouquets of tissue
grow legs and colonize the apartment
the cord of twisted pill labels
[active ingredients: acetaminophen, phenylephrine, sodium hypochlorite, euphoria, sage, dock root, moth wings, moon juice, growth encouragements, blood orange slices red like a sunset]
ties me to the fridge like an eminent river, the kind
you find on maps
now the mold whispers lullabies
of the dark and the earth and
the secrets pressed between the walls like dried flowers
where you drip, i drink
i’m the reflection in your sink,
the centipedes inscribe eulogies
on your combs, they smell your jewelries
deep below you cannot blink
there i sink, there i drink
I wish the landlord hadn’t bricked up the hearth.
I wish there was someone to make me tea.
I curl up inside dark chambers, wishes turning inside of me.
• • •
Devony Hof is a poet and playwright from Palo Alto, CA, currently based in Chicago. She has a BA in English and Theatre from Northwestern, where she received an award for Best Honors Thesis. Her poetry is published or upcoming in Right Hand Pointing, Spell Jar Press, Wildroof Journal and Helicon Magazine. Follow on instagram at @devonyhof.
