I woke up already losing. Dreamt about eating
all night. Wrung out my scales to test the willpower
of my spine. Left babies
in the bathwater. I popped a string
in my eye. Found new skin
on the floorboards. Screamed at cold coffee and dug trenches
under the sink.
If I starve myself enough I will fit
into the piping. I will cycle through weather
the way I am used to. Separate my tongue
from your body. I will gather
like honeybees in the combs of your eyes. Splatter
on concrete, a steering wheel, a woman’s palm.
You will drink me and not know
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Josephine Blair is a Miami-based writer and activist. She is the girl wishing for snow and reading dystopian fiction on the Surfside beach. Her poetry can be found in Meniscus Literary Journal, Twyckenham Notes, and elsewhere.