My psyche used a typewriter
For the rejection letter,
A Remington with a sticky return,
A fresh ribbon, the ink like a spoor
Around each S, stilted, didn’t scan,
Sophomoric. No flaw left unmentioned,
Single-spaced, clause upon clause.
The noise of its creation still audible,
The dream made sure of that. I read it.
I held the page in my hand and felt dread
Embodied, tattooed like a true-name
By some shaman in the wastes.
I woke. I opened the mailbox.
The red flag was up.
About the Poet
Daisy Bassen is a poet and practicing physician who graduated from Princeton University’s Creative Writing Program and completed her medical training at The University of Rochester and Brown. Her work has appeared in Oberon, McSweeney’s and [PANK] among other journals. Born and raised in New York, she lives in Rhode Island with her family.
For the first time in nearly five years, Vita Brevis is closed for submission. Read the full story here.