delicate frame


a waist that hardly dips in,

syrup eyes searching for beauty,

fingers that never lost the baby fat,

nails that end before beginning,

breasts pulling from the weight of

gravity, heart with fixed beats,

longing for someone that isn’t everyone

to love, arms and legs covered in tattoos

that don’t explain a goddamn thing

about who I really am, a pussy,

cold and afraid of anything that comes near,

a stomach embracing fields of

stretch marks I used to hate,

smooth lips that clamp when

they’re afraid, a neck that can barely

stand from the hoarding of pain,

bare feet that run away.



day after thanksgiving

mommy picks me up from grandma's

drives us an hour

to our old church

we never really attended

past midnight

my meager body is worn

legs fall heavily

toward the floorboard

searching for something

to endure the pressure

outside the wind is horrid

it's pouring

I do not understand

the purpose of this drive

I do not understand

how mommy stays silent

the entire way there

as if gravity shifted inside

white pontiac grand prix

the only thing

holding her to the seat

is the weight of her throat

within the chapel

reeks of incense & guilt

air is cold

pews are almost empty

except for a pastor

I have never seen before

heightening mommy's nerves 

muffled noises of nail biting

a distant percolator brewing

amplify the silence

we take a seat 

next to him

& a second before mommy

attempts to release 

tension in her neck

I realize something dreadful

has happened

she grasps 

my young hands

peers into my eyes

as hers begin to seep

she sighs, 

your father was in an accident