Charlotte Vollins Farrowing
the sheep was born with anxious bones,
our arms wet with residue as the life bleated out.
that night we made hot stew with potatoes and corn
and a big fire blistered my face red.
with one cold beer left in the fridge, i dumped
the icebox in the backyard, ignoring
that green glowing light behind the barn. an
apple is just a body with seeds, you observe,
pressing your hand to my stomach as if
to say kindly, there’s nothing inside.
when the cow was born we all ogled at the baby’s legs,
spindly and alien, crawling
across the straw. isn’t there a difference
between being carried and being held? the jam
went bad sitting out on the countertop and we
left that pumpkin to rot. its face mocked me every
morning that i walked to the car: why did you leave me?
why did you not take me inside?
the infinite of language
the emergent property of the brain
sewn across a long quilt of
family history
here is what my mother taught me
i was never one of those kids
who took apart machines just to see
how they worked
tons of red wires like a welded bouquet
the sharp ends
little first kisses
again and again
the lowest voltage of an electric
fence
tongue a whole pink animal
i keep spring
loaded in my mouth
launching out
26 pieces
again and again
i can create anything i want
how does it feel to be clean?
with my nose bleeding in red
ribbons over the sink i resolve to
stop writing about ordinary things
like scratching crust from the corner
of my eye or scratching gray rubber
from a lottery ticket maybe you’ll
win this time maybe i won’t end up
godless and alone in the goodwill
bin full of plastic peeled participation
trophies i want to run home like a
track star with their broken bodies
cradled in my arms i want to show them
what it means to be loved and filling out
the job application under relevant skills
i write down most likely to scratch
an itch until it bleeds.
Charlotte Vollins is a student at Kenyon College in Gambier, Ohio. She works for the Kenyon Review literary magazine as an associate, as well as for the Gund Gallery, the college’s art museum, as a host. Charlotte is a double-major in film and Japanese. In her spare time, she loves to watch old horror movies and write.
Why we chose these pieces: Charlotte has one hell of a voice. Each piece sounds like her, yet she plays with rhythm and tone from poem to poem in a really neat way. Also, damn, she really knows how to nail an ending.
