I was different. A door had opened 

on the top of my head

to host a vulgar immigrant

from an orderless country,

who made pilgrimage here 

to stretch my tongue. I could only speak 

backwards. I could only think 

in coils and loops. I needed 

an exorcist in Brooklyn 

to drag the see-sawing octopus

out of me, to cure this unrestrained

ache, this superhuman fist.

Oh, Demon in me, be dumb. 

Oh Holy Order, 

feed me a bucket of ice,

bring bells and chimes 

and blessed salts, 

before my ribs rive 

and shatter. 

Let me clean forget 

this seizure, this violent flush. 

Make me monk again. 

Let me live asleep.

Erica Miriam Fabri is a Brooklyn-based poet and photographer and the author of two books: Morphology (Write Bloody Publishing) and Dialect of a Skirt (Hanging Loose Press). Morphology won the Jack McCarthy Book Award, and Dialect of a Skirt was a finalist for the Paterson Poetry Prize. She teaches writing at Hunter College and at the College of Staten Island for the City University of New York (CUNY). www.ericafabri.com