Decept by Catherine Zickgraf

Sleight of eye, never
could she explain or pillow-spill
tear guilt.  Never does she open lids in
the dead of midnight, light candles,
hold vigils for her soul.

She’s unlikely
to lie awake wasting sight
on the darkness, her skull lacks
glow with no jolt-spikes, no
remorse—can’t taste
the numbness.

She forgets
to consider living
while complete—she
is half-whole, half

Catherine Zickgraf

Catherine Zickgraf has performed her poetry in Madrid, San Juan, and three dozen other cities, but now her main jobs are to hang out with her family and write more poetry. Her new chapbook, Soul Full of Eye, is available on Find more of her poetry at



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