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