MiPOesias Magazine

ANN LEDERER

Ann Neuser Lederer was born in Ohio and has also lived and worked in Pennsylvania and Michigan. Her poems and creative nonfiction have been published in such journals as Diagram, XConnect, and Brevity; in anthologies such as Bedside Guide (No Tell Motel); and in chapbooks Approaching Freeze, (Foothills) and The Undifferentiated (Pudding House). She is currently employed as a visiting nurse in Kentucky.

Post Trilogy

THIS IS ONLY A TEST

Snap snap then sink them into the already opened gashes
When one more iced limb plops, then a whole side blackens from the chill of no sap When the warning siren in the park gushes and the scraped metallic voice that will not stop Will she just shut up When the helicopter hum above the open window passing back and forth When it all stands up at once and clamors When it bares its yellow teeth You in the center You in your puddle of gore and molten fat You seething, tears gone dry, insides now a flat hot rock getting ready to sizzle When the jaws strike bone, clamp down.

PREPARE A SEALED ROOM

It is recommended that each family prepare a sealed room
Duct tape and thick clear plastic, so many gallons of water per, so many drops of bleach each In viewing the spring horizon, train the eyes on buds only, not on the swords of torn jagged branches This skill does not come naturally Saying nothing negative out loud is a necessity To be in training for most of your life To the bosses, letting slip I feel like shit is not acceptable Within the sealed room you may huddle and whisper your true fears, being cautious to leave no record in writing In the night, the nightmares are mazes, rooms you cannot find the doors to flee from.

ROOSTING TOWARDS SILENCE

Sirens, one after another, then none No sirens
On the next street over, cars slide back and forth in both directions A lone bird seemingly unaware that the sun has already set All the rest in roosts In nests, in trees Then a siren snakes closer, a reminder that the interlude is just that They are probably heading over to the old folks highrise yet again Somebody pulled the pull cord The fine sturdy lads will cheerily pick up another body from the floor Soon, it is silent again Even the bird The footprints of air on the uneven grasses slowly seep the brilliance of greens The sky, not yet black The black tangle of trunks and leafless branches flat against it, as in a scene Here, there, the peoples' children played.