Jodi Bosin
concentrate
we sang a song when we were kids, you know the one
i guess it was more of a chant
there's an egg, the first part said, yolk dripping down your head
each verse had motions to go with it
an interaction with one other person, hallway, intimate
ritual we didn't understand, still don't
with both hands you mimed the cracking of an egg
with fingers, the yolk, running
then you put your fist on the other person's back like a knife
each action was repeated three times
the blood is dripping down
the blood is dripping down
the blood is dripping down
then spiders are your fingers crawling up their arms
and at the end you said
NOW YOU'VE GOT THE CHILLS
ideally dragging out the end of the last word for emphasis
making it as spooky as possible
at least that's how i remember it
and there's a refrain
people are dying, children are crying, concentrate
the tune of it is there in my mind somewhere it comes back to me
and there's something about pushing them
what color do you see when you open your eyes
the colors correspond to the way that they will die, i learn online
red, stabbed
blue, drown
yellow, poison
orange, fire
green, fall from a great height
purple, suffocation
brown, buried alive
grey, disease
i mean what the hell was that, dark, demonic
what were we invoking
what are we invoking now
more insidious, elaborate curses
intentions hidden even from ourselves
concentrate
concentrate
elysia marginata
there is a sea slug that cuts off
its own head and grows another body
because the old one gets infected
with parasites or something like that
on the way to new paltz i’m behind a car
whose license plate says “kisstory”
what could that mean, someone’s name
or the history of a kiss, maybe
i’m not a scientist but i think the slug has
a broken heart and is just being dramatic
and i love that, of course the head with brain
will still retain memory, they do it anyways
our kisstory, incidentally, was four years ago today
i hold the memory and wonder what to do with it
technically it’s still an anniversary
what if i just kept it here inside me, held gently
what if i could make space for something this big
and this vague, and just be okay
one more thing about the slug
is that they’re powered by the sun
gross and godlike
a true artist
Jodi Bosin is a Philadelphia based writer and social worker with poetry in Always Crashing, HAD, Wax Nine, and more. Find her on the front porch and on Instagram @jodi_bosin.