by Sarah Ahlgrim
:in hollows
lapsing with morning
we subsist on gaps and fissures
you, idle in the doorway
say you’re too porous
I decide to laze elsewhere
there are raw holes in the cupboards
but I can’t quite fit
I could wrestle with space
under the bed but it’s busy
with broken-down boxes
in the closet’s nooks
between coats
I command hooks to house
my flesh and sentience
if not for bones:
I’d blend with cloth, leave a
layer of me on a hanger
meet you in the hollows between
rooms and ask
is this enough?
instead
I wait between
boots and loose belts
for you to fill me up
minute
I shrunk beetle-size
crawled into the light between the windows
you were disrobed
staring into glass
pale skin bright enough to beacon
I leapt to your shoulder
left a bite-mark above your breast
burrowed into the crack between
the rust drain and hot faucet spout
awaiting a flood
Sarah Ahlgrim is a native of the northwest and its coldest winters. She writes for the raw reward of writing. Under her maiden name, Borror, her work has appeared in Literary Juice as well as The Mill. You can find her fevered daily posts of poetry at kindcoffeecup.wordpress.com.
