It’s Just That Sometimes I Feel Trappedhttps://i2.wp.com/barrenmagazine.com/wp-content/uploads/2018/09/E97C8D1E-4572-4713-9228-0AB488703B11-e1537404960751.jpeg?fit=1449%2C720&ssl=11449720Megan NevilleMegan Nevillehttps://barrenmagazine.com/wp-content/uploads/2018/09/meganneville-e1538975344882.jpeg
He refuses to eat vegetables
from our garden, says nothing
grown half a mile from a steel mill
can be safe. What about me, then?
But I, I refuse to be a real mother.
My body is not a home for anyone
but me and you, and nothing grown
so close to this mind can be safe.
That first summer while digging in the
yard I found a dog skeleton enveloped
in fur, punctuated by sinew, protected
in rest by a proverbial tomb curse.
Was it always that I cannot look
into both his eyes at the same time,
or only since the beginning of After?
When he dies I will wear a memorial
pinch of his ashes around my neck, a
dutiful partner as these leaden puddles
recede from my ankles, the itch of lace
like bees droning beneath my skin.
Megan Neville is based in Cleveland, Ohio where she teaches English and stares longingly at stacks of unread books that always have to wait for summer break. Her work has been published by or is forthcoming in English Journal, Whiskey Island, Tilde, Moonchild Magazine, and others.