the body has music

Amanda Pendley

on the axis of a head, heavy rolling against hollow

of violin gut. I fish my fingers in to feel for a

possible clog of voice. artery that needs plunged.

spine has been accordionized and I lurch sideways

at the middle, go limp-limbed and let the movie

score pull me back up to echo in Malibu drive by.

I register at a lower frequency, sizzle

in reverberated speaker of an empty room.

slice letters off my name and you will find

a pen scrawling sloppy chord progressions

into an unwritten internal choir of guilt

transference of self-hood to choral performance

leaks and the band sings drainage, bow grazes

faultline voice, circumvents a repressed hitch.

when I go to open myself all that comes out is

crinkled newspaper chucked from the bike basket of a voice box.

I am a subscriber to memorized history, and ears pressed to the unheard,

the audience shouldn’t be allowed to swallow mine.

Amanda Pendley is a queer twenty-one-year-old writer from Kansas City, who is currently studying creative writing and publishing at the University of Iowa. Her recent and forthcoming publications include Homology Lit, Vagabond City Lit, Savant Garde Literary Magazine, and JUKED. She is a 2020 Best of the Net nominee for her poem “afterword on movement song” published by Savant Garde Literary Magazine. She often finds inspiration in Lorde songs, contemporary dance, and Harry Styles’ suit collection.