Reprint
When I saw his wife’s milk-pond
skin I scrubbed my face
until it bled. Wrinkles
hold my mouth in
parenthesis. I’d like to be less
rusted barbed
wire and more fresh
spring pond. You are
the strongest person I know
Sam said but when I wake
alone in my room I plead
to my dead dad
please, don’t let me
see you. I say this out of
fear see? That old cave inside me
yawning deep. I’ve been
clearing my throat too much
picking at my lips.
I ring my hands, Sam,
check and recheck
the burner.
A girl can set
her jaw though
I remind myself—
sharp enough
to slice
the fresh heart
of a deer.
STACY BOE MILLER is a prose writer and a poet. Her work can be found in The Sun, Copper Nickel, Mid-American Review, Bellingham Review, Terrain.org, and other journals. Her book Ready to Answer With Hunger is forthcoming from C&R Books. More of her work, including information about the WorkWhile podcast can be found at stacyboemiller.com.
