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Anatomy of the Inner Ear, One Throne Magazine

"In Silence" by Max Mitenkov.
© Please do not reproduce without artist's permission.

by Claire Hoffman


and sometimes, the slight wind that delivers substance, sometimes

experience collects dust in the corners of the eyes, sometimes piano

is all,

sometimes aching in a hollow shell

gentle pressing and vibrations move the cilia, vibrations fill the body up with its

own soul, spring

for being light again,

sometimes leaving, sometimes always taking those small steps and never arriving

the movement

of that first toe, that little animal grip it has on the

earth, sometimes always twirling like a ballerina

in the Milkyway,

sometimes, oh that one little butterfly knife in my organs, flitting

sometimes you have to break your own hand

sometimes even god is listening, even god is listening

listening to you play

sometimes ever reach for one more berry bursting on the tongue,

that little sweet death, that tiny high note that lives inside the twisted cochlea,

afraid to enter the brain, to gather itself into those dark folds

that may become love, sometimes love, sometimes isolation,

sometimes lovely spinning in the twisted buds of a new cold morning


sometimes forever alive in the intricate patchwork of the veil,

they say it’s the little apparition between us

and god.


Claire Hoffman is a poet from Missouri. She is an MFA Candidate at the Michener Center for Writers. Her poems have previously been published or are forthcoming in the Chariton Review, Switchback, Smoking Glue Gun, and PANK.

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