rows of tumblers line her table like crops waiting for the harvest.
one for every day without you, dear, the glasses sing. she
is mimicking their soprano.
we are so easily shattered, warble the girl and her vices.
in a dream she traded her soleus muscle for enlightenment, then
swallowed nothing but gravity for three days.
she philosophized to the shadows, and held out a candle
to translate their responses against a wall with no building,
casting them in warm yellow light. finally, i am understood-
the thought erupted somewhere inside her ribcage, hit
her mind with the force of rushing water
and the desperate, adrenaline-indebted speed
of a dehydrated animal.
Contributor: Marina Kovacs-McCaney
Copyright © 2014 Marina Kovacs-McCaney. All Rights Reserved.