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BooksJune 4, 2021

The Friday Poem: Twin Peaks, by Alice Miller

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A poem from Alice Miller’s new collection What Fire.

Twin Peaks

Under the waterfall,
that red room blooms, backwards voices
squeeze through speakers, the TV drips
scenes like blood—ceaselessly,

then stop. For some
years I dated a director
but got tired of being a show.
Got stuck in the nineties, plastic-wrapped

girls, black lodge drapes, they told me
the old bad news when I was taking a splinter
out of my foot, prodding my pink raw
flesh with a needle—wait,

my mother said, wait till she gets it out
(unspoken creature lurking beneath skin)—
but now I remember, they didn’t wait,
they went ahead and told me anyway.

I guess I never got it out.

That needle’s still in my hand.


The Friday Poem is edited by Chris Tse. Submissions are currently closed and will open again later this year.

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Mad Chapman, Editor
Aotearoa continues to adapt to a new reality and The Spinoff is right there, sorting fact from fiction to bring you the latest updates and biggest stories. Help us continue this coverage, and so much more, by supporting The Spinoff Members.Madeleine Chapman, EditorJoin Members

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