bodies like gardens, by Salena Wiener

I lay in bed
clutch the pillow
stare at the ceiling
& try not to think
of you

my back lays flat
against soft sheets
as fists clench
& fingers fill with
dirt and soil

I feel weeds push
my back, grasp my hips
pull me under
I gasp for breath but
cough up mud

I look up at slivers
of sky, they wane into tiny
specks of blue

my body becomes
seeds which push
through earth, find
sunlight but no water
& wilt

 

Published 14th November 2018

 

About Salena Wiener

Salena Wiener lives in Montreal, and is pursuing her undergraduate degree in English Literature Honours at Concordia University. She is a former Prose Editor for Soliloquies Anthology Magazine, and her poetry is featured in Peculiars Magazine, Cauldron Anthology, Subversions: A Journal of Feminist Queries, and Graphite Publications. Twitter: @salena_wiener. 

 

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