By Stephanie Sheehy

i took my whole universe and

crushed it into your sleeve
remember that i don’t forget what you’ve done

sunday, skin of snow, our war falls over the ice like a
stumble,
until
the movement becomes clean
until
the blood-feud screams for the bare black sky,
turns the night to water.
the earth swims in her heavens,
our anarchy
makes liars of her gravity

Frost turning over frost.
roots spilling out of your mouth i am
bursting with leaving

i know what i have done.
i say it raspy, i leave it in your breath
hold onto this for me.

four sundays. first frost -she evaporates,
reaches in her rib cages, wrenches them open
to reveal
a blood of hot green and petrichor.
My body lands with a thump.
a girl with the face of a ghost
is muttering over my corpse
is pulling out the living
parts of me:

it’s nothing
it’s nothing
and she’s stringing me up with them.

but where is the boy with the bloodied jaw?
she wraps my hands

i have waited for you. i have knelt gravel to bone
in our stalemate and i have
bled for reprieve
but tend
to your dead, i don’t
forget; memory fractures like a glass
that knows just how to crack.
i just break where
i’ve always broken.
and you’ll come back to hell because it’s warm

you held my wrist and snapped it over.
i placed my mouth over the places i ripped you apart.
we are only our penance

we are only what we do to each other


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