MONDAY: Process


Copyright is held by the author.

I. Rejection
When an elevator breaks
in the throat-shaft

electric-glands fire,
shaft purples under

the surface of the skin.
Accipiter slices auger

sharp precipice
breath clenches.

Shrapnel blocks
the flow of oxygen

to the brain. Intestines
labyrinth, twist, burn.

Circuits fire.

II. Acknowledgment
Jaw clenches — but more
than that brain recognizes

jaw clenches, throat-
shaft opens half-an inch

four buttons dangle
off a broken circuit

a little girl tries to
press them all at once.

III. Acceptance
No rush to fix, do, fix.

Childhood curiosity bubbles

in throat-shaft — will metal
expand and burst?

Tears grease shivs
and spools, no good

or bad just is.
Metal bucket clasped

to metal chain releases
a torrent

of blue-green

IV. Rejoicing
Throat-shaft vibrates
a gentle glow.

Mouth softens
around the edges

like waves to sea
glass, throat opens

the inner light.


Image of Katarine Vuckovic, standing in profile, with her smiling face turned to the camera, in a sleeveless dress, with a baby in a sling on her chest. In the background, there are trees and a sunset over a lake.

Katarina is a poet and writer of fiction. She is working towards becoming an editor. Katarina published her first short story, “Departure,” in The New Quarterly in 2022. She received two Eden Mills Writers Festival poetry awards, and recently completed a poetry mentorship through Diaspora Dialogues. She lives by the Eramosa River with her husband and two daughters, where she spends most of her time in the woods running Village Loom, a nature connection program for children. 

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