Spring 1994 • Vol. XVI No. 2 Poetry |

Fatima

God exists. Instead we are a group of teenage girls, drunk at one of those awful carnivals in a field, out between the airport and the mall. It's raining, and this has become a festival of mud, which is just fine with us. A man with hundreds of tattoos has taken a fancy to Heidi and is slipping her extra darts to lob at the balloons. There are sirens every time she misses, and she wins nothing. Why is there straw in the mud, why is it plastered now to the wet sleeves of our leather jackets? Something cruises into the air with its light bulbs zapping and when we turn around, the man has disappeared with Heidi. Am I wrong or has every teenage girl been at this same carnival in rain, in 19- 78, with four wild friends and a fifth of peach schnapps in her purse with its bit of rawhide fringe? Music spins at us and away from us as the Octopus starts up its scrambling disco dance. Am I the one who says Don't worry she'll be back or have I gone to the porta-potty to barf aga

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Laura Kasischke has published eight collections of poetry. She received the National Book Critics Circle Award for Poetry in 2011 for Space, in Chains (Copper Canyon). She teaches at the University of Michigan.

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The Whole

By Laura Kasischke

God exists. Instead we are a group of teenage girls, drunk at one of those awful carnivals in a field, out between the airport and the mall. It's raining, and […]

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