Somewhere Near

It was a kind of softness—
the thick tongue I curled around

sunshine, unexpectedly distressed.
The machinery in me

slipped, an electric sizzle,
delirious. I listened to the radio,

breathing. At heart
it was possible—to travel forward

out there creating a door into the lights,
the space extending careful

along the stairway, body bent
frantic. I’m hollow

at the moment, backed
into the outside, claws on metal.

This is an erasure poem. Source Material: Crichton, Michael. Jurassic Park. Mass Market ed. Ballantine, 2015. 331-345. Print.

Author of the article

E. Kristin Anderson is a poet and glitter enthusiast living mostly at a Starbucks somewhere in Austin, Texas. A Connecticut College alumna with a B.A. in classical studies, Kristin’s work has appeared in many magazines including Michigan Quarterly Review, The Pinch, and TriQuarterly. She is the editor of Come as You Are, an anthology of writing on 90s pop culture (Anomalous Press) and is the author of nine chapbooks of poetry including Pray Pray Pray: Poems I wrote to Prince in the middle of the night (Porkbelly Press), Fire in the Sky (Grey Book Press), 17 seventeen XVII (Grey Book Press), We’re Doing Witchcraft (Porkbelly Press) and Behind, All You’ve Got (Semiperfect Press). Kristin is a poetry reader at Cotton Xenomorph and an editorial assistant at Porkbelly Press. Find her online at EKristinAnderson.com and on Twitter at @ek_anderson.