the process of looking at yourself on a screen looking at yourself on a screen (the screen i)
the screen as narcissus’ pool, except narcissus is tantalus and he keeps trying to drink his own reflection.
the screen as the mirror that the cat keeps pawing at because it doesn’t know it’s pawing at itself.
the screen as touching your face all day, then waking up to three new pimples.
the screen as the riverwater that drowned ophelia; the screen as ophelia drowning herself.
the screen ii
staring at the most expensive mirror which is also a screen. closing the screen is an act of
violence is a terrorism is a day at the spa. opening the screen is an act of selflessness is a
miracle is a grown man wearing a garbage bag running round and round the high school track.
but which one is chewing on ice with your two front teeth
and which one is Sensodyne?
to have sex
-to rest your head on a pillow made of glazed Krispy Kreme donuts
-to break 18 glass lamps, to wear them as underwear
-to squeeze canned tomatoes between your fingers
-Manet’s Luncheon in the Park
the point is i don’t have any lines
in the Fritz Lang movie it’s black and white but you can tell my teeth are winestained.
sometimes i lounge on the loveseat. i say nothing for the entirety of the film. my character’s only
line is a cold hard scream.
in the John Waters movie i am a clown. i have a little flower in my pocket that squirts water into
my own open eyes. i do not touch either one of the protagonists. i slip on a highly saturated
banana peel, falling facefirst into a vat of cement.
in the Adam Sandler movie i’m the girl at the nightclub in a tight pleather skirt and sticky lip
gloss. he has a one night stand with me to forget about his wholesome but sexy wife. i smile as
he buys me a daiquiri or something blended. he sighs the next day, “she’s just not Caroline.”
in the Joe Wright movie i’m the sister with the weird nose. they never show my face in
closeups, only long shots. sometimes i’m in a wheat field or in the Victorian house window. i’m
there at the wedding but the bride’s lace dress takes up too much space and you can’t see me.
i’m in the pews.
Christina Svenson is studying English at the University of California, Berkeley. She is an associate editor at the Berkeley Poetry Review and the editorial director for the print edition of BARE Magazine. Her poems have appeared in Leste Magazine, Girls Get Busy Zine, and Young Hots Zine. Her Twitter handle is @anglebyshaggy.