Take that bag – that 20 pounds of nightmare – & empty it under the cover of night while beetles & bats cling to hair or imaginary numbers. Release octaves of hoarded photos, borrowed t-shirts, love letters with abandoned addresses. What happened before is irretrievable. Drink whiskey till amber-eyed, dare to throw china dishes against the wall – a startled cat, fragmented forget-me-nots, nicked wallpaper – until the fever falls, my fingers cooled. I’m moon hungry. I am the key of G. I am years distant in an
Rebecca Connors (she/her) is the author of the chapbook, Split Map (Minerva Rising Press, 2019). Her poems can be found in DIALOGIST, Glass Poetry Journal , and Tinderbox Poetry Journal , among others. She is the co-founder of the virtual literary arts space, The Notebooks Collective, and earned her MFA from the Solstice Creative Writing Program at Pine Manor College. She lives in Boston with her family and two cats. Follow her on Twitter @aprilist , Instagram @aprilistwrites or visit her site at aprilist.c
CW: Medical procedure, patient restraint, and self harm.
O at the Edges | Musings on poetry, language, perception, numbers, food, and anything else that slips through the cracks.
twinbrights
Lee Potts – poetry
Jeannie Prinsen
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