First published in Sooth Swarm Journal
suppose i dress for another night,
hair unfurled, skimming my bruised
shadow. i wait out the rain & raise the
damp month to dry, the days fluttering
with all the grace of moths battered against
a window. it’s oct 14th & i have one chance to leave.
creamy pinpricks of light fist my hair
& it’s shorn in one go, forming an exit wound,
sweet & unfamiliar like trisha and her broken
iphone buzzing in the movie theater.
the wind is bloated. pebbled curtains sop up
spilled milk. i knock on wood & worry about
the sunken portrait of a pear propped up in the
kitchen sink, which is overflowing with light &
twenty poems on post-its.
the day is wrung from my soapy palms,
trisha’s smile sagging like an afterthought.