Malika Favre

Déjà Vu by Regina McMorris

My psychic visions come
in flashes. Not really a skill
I can hone, perfect, or market.

As a child I’d see an image
in my head — silver spokes
of a blue bicycle, for example — and later

while standing in my driveway: a boy
new to the neighborhood, riding
his blue bike, spokes shining. Today,

in my psychic eye, or maybe just
the one that makes metaphors, I see myself
falling to the floor. On my way down, I reach

for the neck of a man. If I miss, I grab
his collar. Either way, we are
both going down. If my grip loosens,

I kick his feet
out from under him. Either way,
we’re both hitting the floor. Not

a flashing vision, no silver spoke. More like
the smallest mole on my face,
what I never noticed until now.

More art by Malika Favre here.

Recommended listening: I Was Thinking – Gauntlet Hair

Links of the day: Abandoned villages in Italy by Thomas Jorion


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