Move-in Day

You placed your hands on my chest and pulled –

You didn’t have to try very hard.

My seams unraveled for you,

revealing the space inside.

You climbed in

– first your left boot,

then your right.

Tried to tiptoe but

stomped instead.

Wore down the floors

of my heart

and made me tender.

You hummed inside my annex

and it echoed in the emptiness.

You stepped out

left me hollow

but came back

with a

sofa

            desk

            refrigerator

            and bed

and arranged them within my chest.

Hung curtains on my ribcage

to keep the sun from shining in.

It’s been dark in there

and the light must come in

slow.

You pulled my seams back together

and they knit tighter than before,

hoping to keep you in.

Your clothes aren’t here yet

but maybe that takes

time.

Untitled Prose Poem 1

The bird bent her head to the small, flat dish and nibbled on a saltine. Beside it sat two pieces of celery which she chomped into small bites with her sharp beak and which fell from her mouth and cluttered the ground. Hunger clung to her ribs like a safety blanket, her narrow bones protruding at odd angles.

            Her mother landed beside her, offering her the full course she held in her talons.

            “Eat,” she said, but her daughter turned to the celery and continued her slow chomping. “Please,” her mother begged.

But instead the girl straightened from her meal and flew away.