anatomy of the dollhouse inside a head built of matchsticks

by Ruth Baumann

For a place to exist
it must be inhabited by an idea.
We were a place.

If bodies are suitcases then
they are also roads. I dream
you try to touch me &

I recoil. My brain pulls itself
into chopsticks
& feeds me memory.

If science & poetry both exist
to dictionary lost bones. If
science & poetry

both exist. If we
still exist, separately. If
I dream tonight

that I can’t stop touching your face
Then what. Then what
then what then what.


Ruth Baumann currently lives in Richmond, Virginia, but will be starting her MFA at the University of Memphis in the fall. She has poems in The Dirty Napkin, WordRiot & Toad, as well as forthcoming work in Kill Author & PANK. She also has two excellent cats.