"Villain Era" by Savannah Cooper

Villain Era

I am not responsible for unread signs, for eyes
gone cloudy. Accuse me of changing the weather
just to wreck your day. Stop giving me so much

power, my hands full of magic, my mouth dripping
curses, as though your ruin is in my blood, runs
slick and dark through my veins. These myths

constructed board by board, your voice shaky
through the phone line, stuttering in the air.

Somewhere in the empty fields between cities,
I lose track of where we stand, the sickly sweet
of your smile, the knife of words between

my shoulder blades. We do what we must
to survive, lie to live, smile and blur the details,
toe the line. But there is no resurrection here,

no redemption for this animal you hoped
we’d be, dead now on the side of the road,

crushed and torn, a smear of blood, a twisted
limb. Throw your funeral if you must, blow up
black balloons and send flowers courtesy

of the faithless and prodigal. Rent out the altar
and the sanctuary, hire a preacher to turn death
into a sermon, life into a prison. Call me later,

after you’ve finished writhing on the floor and
the spirit’s left you, all your tongues reduced
to naked, witless whimpering in the dark.

Savannah cooper

Savannah Cooper (she/her) is a leftist bisexual agnostic, and a slow-ripening disappointment to her Baptist parents. You can almost always find her at home, reading or cuddling with her dogs and cat. A Pushcart Prize-nominated poet, her work has previously appeared in Parentheses Journal, indicia, and Bear Review, among numerous other publications.

Headshot: Josh Admire

Photo Credit: Staff