MISTAKE
I may mistake you for a seam of rain for neon clouds or a forgery of birds
speaking my name for your body is a starry filigree wing cradling my ungiven
thoughts in the dream I did not see but felt you closer and it was exactly what
I needed
VOID
avoidance ate away here dig into me call me a stuffed pig rancid milk stain a
void mimicking my choke hold my cherry chest for real gifts come later a gash
for the gristle a moment tucked in the chlorine hills into the rawest meat of
my mirror
GRAY
burn slow bundled sage for the entity inching away as I awaken to diagram the
hum of a bare tree to call out hoarse and yellow a sash of dirt a tongue of
seeds to articulate and hit refresh to sweat out the gray-torn minutes behind
me
SEED
willow named I a sky of tangerine a bracelet of live bees inverting my chest an
understatement turning red into rage then blue into self-pity call me starseed
reciting the space between two ribs the gloss of a failed eternity
NEVER
I collapse under my own glamour I mean my grammar call me a glitch with a
glitter adi shakti symbol threading my wings a bundle of lavender in my armpit
instead of your face call me never the wound still glows and I let it
Heather Sweeney lives in San Diego where she teaches writing. Her chapbook, Just Let Me Have This, was
published this year by Selcouth Station Press.
above/ground recently published her chapbook, Same Bitch, Different Era: The Real Housewives Poems.
The Tuesday poem is curated by rob mclennan
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