The Count
by Caroline Maldonado
First imagine Self in a shut room the curtain
pulled tight When he comes for you again
your heart like a trapped fly
crashes against the panes You don’t cry
Drawing the curtains open you see
in every other window along the street
the blinds are down
He goes out Keeps you in
with smartlocks and webcams
He’s kept your phone When he comes
for you again the cries that rush for the exit
aren’t yours the split
cheekbone isn’t yours You’re about
to find a place with its own black-out
unaware of all the women
killed in a month of lockdown
and that you will be the 50th
First imagine Self
When all the lights go out
by Caroline Maldonado
Once all that was needed was
a single bulb not to work for
the whole chain to be corrupted
although there was still some hope
if I helped my father twist each
tiny glass phial in its plastic shell
and we found the one that had
loosened, become disconnected from
the electric current, and tightened it up
or replaced it (the set always came
with a small bag of spares) so that
once adjusted the whole line
swirled around the tree – suddenly
stars again – and that thought
led me to another where a head
of government makes a statement
with no connection to reality
and his followers, a string of them,
pass his words from one to the next
and then all the lights are out.
