AngeLs AND Zombies
Jill Khoury
The new apartment building
is rife with them—they war
in the elevators, landings, stairwells,
places of intersection.
do laundry on a weekday,
in the morning, you can hear
an undead mass being conducted
through the air vents.
of corrupted prayer. Snarls
and groans. Or you’ll find a garment
in the mailbox, soiled with blood.
These garments, I’ve
are some kind of codified message.
I was told I should remove my mail
and put the garment back. A week
after I move in, I see the
feathers in the elevator. Molting.
Damaged plumage. People who live
in my building queue up near
the threshold. They wait like
in the lobby. When the doors open,
a collective leaning-in. They scream
and raise their cell phones.
Aim their lenses above my
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