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Allison Hummel

Mortal Weekend


The ground might rise

beneath you, like bread.


Things might descend

to meet you, as if


borne by the voice

of somebody very tall.


I might wish I had one

mortal weekend,


things like laundry

and coffee and ramen,


the dreamt-up shape

of Otto on the couch,


the dark low hills

of Brigitte Engerer’s hair;


she plays Schumann’s Carnaval.

I might wish something


engaged me like a fisherman’s



alternative to faith,

anathema to my cloudy wandering.


An inversion of need,

brought up like the wreck of a car


from a lake,

when metal cedes to


sloughing oxide



hair becomes liquid,

we become aged;


this is my dream

of what a nice summit


might look like.


Allison Hummel is based in Echo Park, Los Angeles. Her work has recently appeared in Rougarou, Anastamos, and the PacificReview, and is forthcoming in Slant, Cleaver, and the Operating System. 

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