< Issue 4 >
Things We Lost
by Sarah Myles Spencer
Give me back the bones
of my dead father, soft skin
of my mother's neck,
the dream I had where you
loved me enough to let
me swim without anchor or
vest; a ribbon of forgiveness
at my throat. Give me
the moment my legs
learned to waltz in your
image, quiver of my thighs
wrapped in plastic,
afraid someone might touch
them, like what they saw
more than I was conditioned
to believe acceptable -
the joy in loving myself.
Give me my blackened side
walks, night time stars,
curse of my birth for the one
you doused your fingers in. Give
me the right to choose. Give me
mornings, self assurance,
feel of wind on my bare back,
the simple freedom to dance.
In the end I looked at you
more than I looked at myself.
this is no way to be.
Things We Lost
by Sarah Myles Spencer
Give me back the bones
of my dead father, soft skin
of my mother's neck,
the dream I had where you
loved me enough to let
me swim without anchor or
vest; a ribbon of forgiveness
at my throat. Give me
the moment my legs
learned to waltz in your
image, quiver of my thighs
wrapped in plastic,
afraid someone might touch
them, like what they saw
more than I was conditioned
to believe acceptable -
the joy in loving myself.
Give me my blackened side
walks, night time stars,
curse of my birth for the one
you doused your fingers in. Give
me the right to choose. Give me
mornings, self assurance,
feel of wind on my bare back,
the simple freedom to dance.
In the end I looked at you
more than I looked at myself.
this is no way to be.
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