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By Jane Yeh

The opera

In her head


Runs with no interval,

A lot of people singing tunelessly


About the same things.

An overheard


Comment like

A rotting peach.


The overzealous

Cockatoo of her impatience,


Flap flap. The slab

Of blue behind her


Is a sea of

Her doubts. The squirrel


In her stomach

Trying to get out—


They say you have to be

Twice as good. They say


There are pills

For everything now. Enamel


Eyes to see all

The better with, my


Dear. Fur coat

For your tongue—


Source: Poetry (April 2019)

  • Arts & Sciences
  • Living

Poet Bio

Jane Yeh
Jane Yeh’s third collection, Discipline, is just out from Carcanet Press.

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