by Jennifer Brough

what’s the opposite of an introduction?
an unknowing
an act that excises
your arm from my waist
like missing a step
at the foot of the stairs
what was once certain
is just empty air

i wrench laundry
from the dryer
to untangle what
some call intimates
among warm folds
i search for a memory
of what it is to be tender
hazy as the clouded lint tray

what’s the word for a problem you’d buried
rearing to ruin each meal?
at a picnic
the first spray of crocuses
bruises the soil
you sigh as i fumble the plates
and our jaws ache
from chewing through grit

as you leave
another room
i mouth to myself:
is the only thing
pinning you down
doing exactly that?
and will you
continue to let it?

Jennifer Brough | @jennifer_brough |
Jennifer writes fiction, reviews and personal essays exploring the body, gender, pain and disability, and art. Her work has most recently appeared in Luna Luna Magazine, Artsy, and The Debutante. She is a member of resting up collective, a group of disabled and chronically ill creatives.


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