I staple crisis to my body like a gaudy fabric
Don't I look pretty in my urgency?
Sits coolly on the shoulders
Stew in it, let it feather
Rotate the pestle, scrape every bit of bulk off the sides
My stomach forgives the exasperation
I'd call it old friend if we spoke the same language
YOU ARE READING
Sink Bath
PoetryCollection of short poems surrounding religious trauma, grief, and love written by Cupid's Balladry.
