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.