D
ANA Levin is so
alive that it seems
indecorous to kill her.
There are five of us in
the kitchen of friends
of friends, and we’ve
burgled a refrigerator for its con-
tents, placed it all on the floor
around the house. On tables and
chairs, on shelves and in the door-
way, out of view, are eggs and milk
and crackers and bread; beer and
beer and cookies and beer. Three
of us, myself included, are trying to
be gentlemen while stuffing poor
Dana, at 9 in the morning, into a
two-level Amana, repurposed now
as a visual coffin to carry the poor
poet, still sunrise-bleary, as she
accompanies her poem “School
of Flesh” into a portrait.B. A. VAN SISE is a photographer
and author of the visual poetry
anthology Children of Grass. His
visual work has been featured in
museum exhibitions in the United
States, as well as in the New York
Times, the Village Voice, and the
Washington Post. His writing has
previously appeared in a number
of literary magazines, including
the Southampton Review, the North
American Review, and Eclectica.SEPT OCT 2019 80Dana Levin