Amanda Mitchell
reinterpreting the scene beneath a kaleidoscopic lens
I have been thinking lately of an object
it has been crushed on one side
and if I am to lay it sideways in my palm it does not cease being
crushed
on one side
on one side
and if I am to place it in a chamber with mirrored walls
a crushing comes
from all sides
from all sides
I want to propose a past that has gone kaleidoscopic
can no longer be violent what is violent disappears in the
seams between mirrors
in which small pieces of girlhood seem to shrink just before
the edges grow all
the brighter they are the less jagged they
I want to propose a past that rattles at the end
of a scope I twist slow isn’t something I want to take apart
I only want to
watch this part
watch this part
what happens if I take it apart I am trying to remember how it
only happens when I close my eyes to
this twirling chamber fills
a hue spreading as if
it is a bruise it has been growing bright edges since
memory is distance
is distortion perhaps
pressing my own
eye to jagged rock
memory is distance
is distortion perhaps
pressing my own
eye to jagged rock
since no one else could be said to have been there
eye squinting against shatter
twinned across mirrored
edges like jaws opening
upon small bright
twinned across mirrored
edges like jaws opening
upon small bright
since it is entirely possible someone had been
standing behind me eying
how best to shatter me in
a moment my eyes were fixed
how best to shatter me in
a moment my eyes were fixed
upon a shattering elsewhere upon a seam a facet a glint
never here not really there
these girlhood tricks
look how small
and bright how they split
the dark thrust your eyes
down this tunnel this
twisting chamber
and bright how they split
the dark thrust your eyes
down this tunnel this
twisting chamber
tricks of the light
cut away to show their bright insides
try to look anywhere but
it was entirely possible what could have been
cut away to show their bright insides
the brightest part of the scene
wasn’t just a stone fixed in
a gold band it was a whole
fistful of rock it wasn’t
clear what color
the brightest part of the scene
wasn’t just a stone fixed in
a gold band it was a whole
fistful of rock it wasn’t
clear what color
dripped from the jagged side felt less like teeth than soft mouth lifting
yes it was entirely possible what once had been
a dull color before broken
in two a rock rather plain
on the outside opened upon
what seemed like gleaming
in two a rock rather plain
on the outside opened upon
what seemed like gleaming
rows of violet teeth what was inside the dark rubbed
raw sugar to the lips
this is how it seems to me
what had broken has broken
sweetly
I want to propose this is not my first proposal
waking and opening the door of the house perched on a wooded hill
what rushed in from out was brisk
what lay at my feet
a small splatter a trinket
left by the barn cat
a small splatter a trinket
left by the barn cat
unwrapped from the flesh of a fox a gory trinket
just a little something
I think it sprang from someplace near the heart
the inexplicable desire
to watch a thing
unwrapped slowly
to watch a thing
unwrapped slowly
to memorize what it is to see what had been kept from sight
what has been seen that should not have been seen isn’t that how it goes
let alone placed
among mirrors in a
chamber a mind mirroring
what should not have
been seen is seen
over again
among mirrors in a
chamber a mind mirroring
what should not have
been seen is seen
over again
but if I am to lay it sideways in my palm it’s as if it had never been
crushed
on one side
on one side
just as it is
easy to overlook the teeth of such an affectionate creature
for whom leaving bloody pieces
on the doormat the nearest expression of
what has been seen that should not have been seen that it wanted me to
look at all the small bright pieces inside
once split how could it have been once composed
of these bright
pieces after all
how small
pieces after all
how small
just as it is
difficult to think of that hand as it was
that day it was a fist with a rock
for whom affection was possible only after a forceful expression of
I want to propose a past that shatters
an object so brightly lit I want to say translucent
a glass prism slick
in my palm edges not
so sharp as to suggest
how it will slice the pale
in my palm edges not
so sharp as to suggest
how it will slice the pale
colorless ray breaks open as my
hand is filled with small bright pieces
and if I am to make a fist the colors only scatter across my fingernails
an object composed just so
any thing that comes against it will shatter
look how
it drips from
the jagged side glistens
like sugar spun like
something to lick
look how
it drips from
the jagged side glistens
like sugar spun like
something to lick
tricks of the light
if memory is distance is distortion it has been cut to catch
if I close my
eyes to these
small pieces
eyes to these
small pieces
cannot gleam in the dark cannot rattle so brightly
in a chamber without mirrored walls what can stay hidden
what of the seams
tricks of the dark
a past that rattles at the end of a scope I break open
what seems to skitter
like many bright gems
like many bright gems
only this sharp heap of mirrored pieces
I want to propose a past the dark uncoils around
a rattle I might have known would fill my palm
with teeth
Amanda Mitchell holds an MFA from the University of South Carolina, prior to which she studied English and Creative Writing at Hollins University. Her poems have appeared or are forthcoming in Bone Bouquet, Third Coast, Tupelo Quarterly, and The Journal, among others. She lives in Dallas, TX and reads poetry for Oxidant | Engine.