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80 pages, Paperback
First published January 25, 2022
My little girl heart with its stitched lace edges spent a fortune in
waxy birthday wishes hoping to one day thrill my mother with my
ability to magic myself steadily upright after one of her severings.
“My brother grew up to be a magician,
My brother grew up to be twice as angry as he was tall
and he got so tall.
Spring loaded goldfinches always up his sleeves
and I, his assistant
cut down with a flourish,
phantom sibling,
a dull ache at the severing point.
The days I forget I have a brother
are the same days I forget I was a child at all.”
“Once, I dared to enjoy an apple at a bus stop,
a large beautiful Honeycrisp apple, perfectly chilled,
and a car veered across two entire lanes of traffic to splash
my fat body with shame for being seen eating
anything at all.”
“Praise my therapist.
Praise the universe and its divine clownery.
Praise the chosen family who stay choosing me back.
Praise the mothering in me despite it not coming from her.”
I am 15 and my mother has caught me fresh off the phone
in a moment of unguarded joy.
She sweeps in and cups my laughter in her hands.
It flutters wildly against her caged fingers,
she marvels loudly at the rarity of the thing,
as though it is rare because I am selfish with my
glow,
as though she never saw the bloody smears of my smile
lighting up her son’s knuckles.
The trapped, delicate thing flickers out in her hands.
(“Glow”)