pure signifier and three witches 

Carrie Jenkins

 pure signifier 

it meant the curse was come upon us. 

it meant we cared. 

it meant something different in february. 

it meant something different 

on a white face. 

it meant we had families. it meant i respect you 

and don’t shake my hand. 

it meant lower mortality, less severe infection, fewer intubations, 

and more icu beds for the most vulnerable. 

it meant nobody had any better ideas. 

it meant we couldn’t kiss on the first date. instead 

our glasses fogged up and our lipstick smudged. it meant we weren’t safe, 

but safer, like condoms mean safer sex. 

it meant we were beta cucks 

wearing face condoms. 

it meant we couldn’t lipread 

but could evade facial recognition software. 

it meant we could 

and could not 

breathe. 

it meant we were taking additional measures 

to ensure the health and safety of all our staff and customers. 

it meant whole new trends in street trash. 

it meant they were available to purchase everywhere. 

it meant my species went to hell 

and all i got was this stupid t-shirt fabric

with elastic straps. 

three witches 

i. augur 

i worried you wouldn’t want to tonight. 

but in the dark, formless and warm we fumble 

questions that make you open 

me blurred and muted. outside 

through the faux-fur 

sky matter falls 

into lesser constellations: 

swanky peacock tails, 

storms from other summers, 

all the crossed paths in our palms. 

ii. brewmistress 

i can’t count seasons. how our rock 

bundle twists in space. no ceremonies, 

calendars, weekends— 

you make me star-slow. sticky 

like a summer birthday. time won’t wash: i stumble 

and swell, spun around its drum 

just dirty. cycles forget to end. 

parts fall off. each morning i hang my shame 

half-rinsed from the same old tree 

around whose roots i have been growing 

dark red poppies and barley. someday i will make a mash 

of all this and ferment you. finish you 

in a sherry cask, where i suspect 

you will age well. 

iii. necromancer 

they’re still splayed 

on my bed. when you said the word i ripped 

into them like a wretched chicken 

split at its joints to be eaten 

raw. alive and thrashing i extracted 

the hollow muscle without which the carcass 

of my keychain now weighs 

five thousand pounds, the same as a blue 

whale’s limp 

dismembered 

tongue.