Apart of nature, I shed the skin I have outgrown, Refusing to be restricted by things that have lost their purpose.
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nestled in the soft bit of skin between her neck and jaw,
it’s sprouted just out of her range of vision [. . .]
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There is only an arm’s length between us,
enough to see straight into your brown eyes.
My whole life has been roots and cherry picking, digging myself up before I was ripe.
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Double dutch girls, we never did learn how to be apart.
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My crisis of writing and publishing stems from writing the darkest and most horrific parts of my life, without having processed them, publishing in soon-defunct literary magazines with little to no audience, and getting eight likes on social media as payment. Is this what I should turn myself inside out for?
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The Quarantine Poems is a series of poetry written durning the covid-19 pandemic lockdown, available in text and in audio.
The first instalment, On Yearning, is authored by Sarah Lawrence.
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Dust motes drift like ashes / perhaps an old dream / perhaps you
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The collection begins now, a digging / the excavation of her pomegranate hips.
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Now, as I am one year and seven months from thirty, I understand the infinity of growing old. I imagine myself as recycled clay. Formed into this year, grabbed by another and shaped into that one—but where is the kiln? Where is the sun that dries the grapes?
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I still think about the endocrinologist lifting my shirt to see how my ribs were jutting out of the skin.
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