My mother speaks to me from the grave, again

My mother speaks to me from the grave, again https://i1.wp.com/barrenmagazine.com/wp-content/uploads/2019/02/Barren-Magazine-Submission_Mantey_Budda-Buried.jpg?fit=1920%2C1037&ssl=1 1920 1037 Jill Khoury Jill Khoury https://i1.wp.com/barrenmagazine.com/wp-content/uploads/2019/02/jillkhoury.jpeg?fit=96%2C89&ssl=1 02/13/2019 02/15/2019

Have you noticed lately
your sagging pinions?

A decrease of nectar
in the neckskin. Stomach

like a blank sack, a slack
snap. Those duck feet,

paddling mad. From down
here, I see how you straddle

the ledge of ambition.
Know this: no leap

can be calculated,
no distance exactly measured.

Climb down. Dig your hole.
I know your sadness bleeds

inward, like a nick in the wrist
made more sick by your picking.

Lay next to me.
Reach through dirt

and hold my hand, Princess,
though my skinrot sloughs

toward you like a loose glove.
I’m lonely. Aren’t you?

About the Author

Jill Khoury

Jill Khoury writes about the intersection of gender and disability. She holds an MFA from The Ohio State University and edits Rogue Agent, a journal of embodied poetry and art. She has written two chapbooks—Borrowed Bodies (Pudding House, 2009) and Chance Operations (Paper Nautilus, 2016). Her debut full-length collection, Suites for the Modern Dancer, was released in 2016 from Sundress Publications. Find her at jillkhoury.com.

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My mother speaks to me from the grave, again