Thursday, August 31, 2023

that time I wasn’t a Maxim model.




your lips are moving, your

hot mouth forming phrases that you

pocketed after dragging the creek for 

remnants and comparable bodies


you were taught to fill space with 

excuses, justification for why 

you have been missing, validation 

for the reasons that you keep

coming. 

back.


I envision your body sitting still

long enough to feel

the mud settle against your skin,

knowing I could see you drift away

if the water was clear


I calculate and edit for days

until your reappearance, the

creature of dismissal birthed in 

your absence slides out of its den 

with an articulate strike, 

and like the opportunity, you 

are gone.


© 8.31.2023 heather brager


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