the dust jacket of my favourite novel
Eliza Mahon
and I am the dust jacket of my favourite novel; well worn, well creased, well loved (flat instead
of folded) - I am the chalk dust that falls off a blackboard, the dust that whispers mene, tekel,
peres (the writing on the black slate wall); I am the sacrality that follows:
title (untitled); author (anonymous); characters (unnamed); quotes (unspoken); I am large, I
contain multitudes (whitman) - contradict and compliment - sow discord, reap delight (does that
make me a Reaper? Should one call me Grim?) - I am the vain cockatoo preening in the mirror,
and the academic asleep in their thesis; I am kept out of sentimentality (but not need) and I add
(but do not subtract), and the number is whole without addition - I am a stick that is a sword,
staff, simply a stick (I elicit joy); I am the ice cream truck on a hellfire day (I am welcomed with
wild abandon) - I am the sticker on a grocery store fruit (I am easily discarded); I am and I am and I am and I
am not - I have filled myself with use(less/ful) notes:
you are a girl you are a girl you are a girl you are a girl you are a girl you are a girl - (am I?)
I am paper and ink and life and other impermanent things; I am nothing of value; I am
priceless(?); I am a breath in a tornado; I am wrapping paper the day after Christmas; I am a
worm in a rainstorm; I am a worm in a tacklebox - I add, and I do not subtract
Eliza Mahon (she/they) is a queer writer and editor from Edmonton, Canada. They edit at Polyphony Lit and Cathartic Literary Magazine, and are currently focusing on their education. Her work has appeared in Island Shores poetry anthology, as well as Issue One of Blue Things Zine. You can find them @e.lie.zah on Instagram.