animal husbandry
the dog
in the back of the house is making a sound like it's never
known love before.
you are an animal,
gentle,
and with large hands.
you tell me i know nothing,
that i am a vessel.
and i believe every single thing that you say.
in the back of the house,
i offer my neck to you and you carefully tie the leash around it.
this is beautiful.
i have never known love before.
freedom gains meaning
in relation to its limits.
What do you want that this poem can’t give you?
An orange, maybe.
Navel, gritty, reeking of perfume.
The cure to the hangover from drinking last night.
A boyfriend.
A cool job—
One that lets you travel, and make art, and is salaried.
Is this your first time living?
That angelicism, that world-ordered madness?
No wonder you're scared.
Don’t be such a baby.
I’m trying to teach you something worth knowing.
I’m trying to give you everything you’ve given me,
Which is to say, not citrus
Or greasy diner food.
Not the fatted calf, or even the togetherness.
Here it is.
Eat it.
I don’t care if the brine hits the back of your throat
Or you can’t figure out how to swallow.
Swallow.
I’m giving you something beautiful here.
I’m giving you something beautiful.
Elissa Fertig is a recent Art History Master's graduate from the School of the Art Institute of Chicago and current registrar at an art conservation company. She has been published in JAKE magazine, The Racket Reading Series, Sour Cherry Press, the Bitchin' Kitsch, Polyester Zine, and others. When she isn't writing she is rock climbing.