The Meadow Annual Literary Arts Journal 2018

Recalibration Corey Oglesby As your buck knife unzips the baby seal’s stuffed-tight guts and every snuffed-out cigarette you’ve ever tossed into water tumbles out of it, and your mother rounds the corner, screaming across the ice on chainsaw rollerblades swinging a nail-barbed bat, it’s important to remind yourself you are dreaming . The man you’re terrified of becoming, when his story about how hopped-up he gets on tonic water if he drinks it too late in the day won’t seem to end, it’s important to remember you are listening . Talking is different— you’re supposed to suck a cherry out of the air and tongue-tie the idea of it in a knot. It’s required of you to be a kind of an oyster, all stomach, mouth, and asshole. A pearl is not required. A pearl is a plus. A plus is negativity falling down carpeted stairs and still learning its lesson. Say this: Mom, I’m just going through the tapes of my life and playing them all in reverse so it looks like I was always putting things back the way they were. The Meadow 17