Research: Journals
The Journal
Issue 33.1
Hadara Bar-Nadav
I Don't Like Paradise(Title and italics adapted from Emily Dickinson)
though the candy is nice and all things broken are whole again. Father unpins his raveled limbs, repairs the impair of paralysis and blot of stroke. The clot now eased, the blood released, wanders the heart, humming. And there is mother's puzzled face. The maze of surgical welts dissolves. Melanomic swirls like cinnamon melt. Our juicy mouths gloss sweet. We are sugary plastic, a shiny Paradise. But I never felt at home in shiny. Felt the starlings darkly underskin, their mustard points beaking through the taffy chew of us. Our bitter cup of collapse. If they scavenge the too-small opening of the ears or devour the eyes, a thousand wings will sour the light, and all things broken break again.
