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?
Header photograph © Jackie Mantey.
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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