by Corinna McClanahan Schroeder

Next to the ear’s auricle,
shake the pear of a burnt-
out incandescent bulb.
The coiled tungsten filament—
turned brittle and thinned
from white current hours,
our many offs and ons—
has detonated. Another bomb
let blow. Filament shards tink
like dampened bells inside.

*

Corinna McClanahan Schroeder is originally from Cincinnati, Ohio. She is currently completing her MFA degree at the University of Mississippi where she is the recipient of a John and Renée Grisham Fellowship. Her work has previously appeared or is forthcoming in such journals as Hayden’s Ferry, Tampa Review, Pebble Lake Review, and Measure, and she was recently awarded an AWP Intro Journals Award in poetry.