Izzy Casey
IN THE HISTORY OF THE GLASS HOSPITAL UNIVERSE
A horse walks into a horse. “What we have,” sobs the Dusty Horse, “is an Artichoke.” “What we have,” sobs the Shiny Horse, “is an Aria.” “What we have,” sobs the Dusty Horse, “is an Artichoke.” “What we have,” sobs the Shiny Horse, “is an Arabesque.” “What we have,” sobs the Dusty Horse, “is an Artichoke.” “What we have,” sobs the Shiny Horse, “is an Accordion Pleat.” “What we have,” sobs the Dusty Horse, “is an Artichoke.” “What we have,” sobs the Shiny Horse, “is a big fat matryoshka doll that swallowed a smaller and skinnier matryoshka doll that swallowed the smallest and skinniest matryoshka doll that swallowed the smaller-than-smallest and skinnier-than-skinniest matryoshka doll that swallowed a tiny glass hospital. The tiny glass hospital is the most smallest and most skinniest glass hospital in the history of the glass hospital universe.” “A tiny glass hospital,” sobs the Dusty Horse, “that fills up with artichokes.” “A tiny glass hospital does not fill up with artichokes,” sobs the Shiny Horse, “but with the absence of artichokes.” “There is no such thing,” sobs the Dusty Horse, “as the absence of an artichoke.” “There is no such thing,” sobs the Shiny Horse, “as a no such thing.” “There is so,” sobs the Dusty Horse, “so there is.” “It is all Antarctica,” sobs the Shiny Horse, “on the indoor of you.” “That is the indoor of me,” sobs the Dusty Horse, “and you are the outdoor of me.” “We are so much,” sobs the Shiny Horse, “like the absence of an artichoke.” “We are so much,” sobs the Dusty Horse, “so much.” “The absence of an artichoke,” sobs the Shiny Horse, “is nothing part of me.” “There is a part of me,” sobs the Dusty Horse, “that is part of me.” “What is the part of me full of,” sobs the Shiny Horse, “and where?” “I dislike questions,” sobs the Dusty Horse, “and I dislike answering them. I carry zero fondness for introductions or fun facts or facts of any kind. My saddle carries a large pocket that is in the shape of you. My final offer is, I’ll carry you in it.” So much small in the Shiny Horse carries a fondness for final offers.
IZZY CASEY has published poems in Bat City Review, Columbia Review, Black Warrior Review, Gulf Coast, New York Tyrant, and The Yale Review. She holds an MFA in poetry from the Iowa Writers’ Workshop and has received fellowships from the Poetry Foundation and the Giancarlo DiTrapano Foundation for Literature & the Arts. She lives in New York City.
