[stanza][lineate]I spend summer afternoons[/lineate]
[lineate indent=9.5] skimming my body[/lineate]
[lineate]along the edges[/lineate]
[lineate indent=5] of our vinyl pool. [/lineate]
[lineate]When the back door thunders [/lineate]
[lineate indent=9.5] open, [/lineate]
[lineate]I wedge myself behind the ladder, [/lineate]
[lineate indent=10.5] between it [/lineate]
[lineate indent=2.5]and the white-blue wall. [/lineate]
[lineate]Oak leaves shudder, [/lineate]
[lineate indent=5.5] blow on their limbs [/lineate]
[lineate indent=2.5]like storm clouds. [/lineate]
[lineate]As they rush overhead, [/lineate]
[lineate indent=8.5] my breath is rapid,[/lineate]
[lineate]shallow like water [/lineate]
[lineate indent=6.5] sputtering from the filter.[/lineate][/stanza]
[stanza][lineate indent=7] *[/lineate][/stanza]
In the corner of my closet, I curl into a hushed womb
of fabric, press against rough papered walls, track
the cracked plaster, thick-grained floorboards,
tear an old Easter dress from its hanger, wrap my shoulders
in torn taffeta, touch the worn neckline and know
muscles are nothing more than thin strands of silk
blanketing my bones
[stanza][lineate indent=7] *[/lineate][/stanza]
[stanza][lineate]I swallow watermelon, tomato, and apple seeds whole,[/lineate][/stanza]
[stanza][lineate indent=2.5]plant myself in my mother’s overgrown garden, dig [/lineate][/stanza]
[stanza][lineate]my fingers into the dirt, think about how they tingle [/lineate][/stanza]
[stanza][lineate indent=2.5]all the time now, knotted together like tangled roots.[/lineate][/stanza]
[stanza][lineate]I imagine the small pains as thawing, will it to spread, [/lineate][/stanza]
[stanza][lineate indent=2.5]will the ends of my hair to hook, tug me into the ground.[/lineate][/stanza]
[stanza][lineate indent=7] *[/lineate][/stanza]
Voices flood the staircase,
a torrent circling me at the top
as I kneel behind my bedroom door.
My head rests against an iron air vent,
Eyes closed, I listen, hear waves racing,
crashing, feel carpet giving to shore.
A door slams and my lungs pack
with sand, pebbles catch in my veins.
When I stand, ghosts of starfish
are pressed into my dimpled shins.
[stanza][lineate indent=7] *[/lineate][/stanza]
[stanza][lineate]I rub soot scraped from the fireplace[/lineate]
[lineate indent=2.5]into my skin and walk[/lineate]
[lineate indent=10.5]down a dirt road, [/lineate]
[lineate]past the edge of town [/lineate]
[lineate indent=2.5]watching light towers pulse [/lineate]
[lineate]in the night, I pull the soft red [/lineate]
[lineate indent=2.5]from the sky, [/lineate]
[lineate]place it on my tongue, [/lineate]
[lineate indent=2.5]tip my head back [/lineate]
[lineate indent=4.5]and swallow. [/lineate]
[lineate]I pluck stars from the darkness,[/lineate]
[lineate indent=2.5]wedge them [/lineate]
[lineate indent=4.5]between my teeth, [/lineate]
[lineate indent=2.5]stick them to the ends [/lineate]
[lineate indent=4.5]of my eyelashes,[/lineate]
[lineate indent=2.5]blink[/lineate]
[lineate indent=4.5] shooting stars,[/lineate]
[lineate indent=2.5] blink [/lineate]
[lineate indent=4.5]wishes[/lineate]
[lineate]Lying in the dry ditch, [/lineate]
[lineate indent=4.5]I imagine myself [/lineate]
[lineate indent=2.5]the faded line of horizon [/lineate]
[lineate]listening [/lineate]
[lineate indent=2.5]to the constant static of cars [/lineate]
[lineate]passing on the nearby highway, [/lineate]
[lineate indent=2.5]I watch[/lineate]
[lineate]their lights warm and fade, [/lineate]
[lineate indent=2.5]waiting[/lineate]
[lineate]for a set to sweep over me.[/lineate][/stanza]
~ Chelsey Harris
Chelsey Harris is currently in the MFA program at Southern Illinois University. Her work has appeared in Dressing Room Poetry Journal and Cooper Street, and is forthcoming in ‘Hope Grows Here: Stories of Resilience from Survivors of Domestic Abuse’.