Published in Levee Magazine, Issue 02, 2019
My wedding photos came back and
I didn’t look like memory.
My face a powdered expanse without depth, flat
as a Byzantine Jesus or maybe
the asphalt even. My mother was
like a wax figure under an unforgiving flame, her eyes
fixed somewhere out of focus, out
of the shot. I don’t remember my mother
playing Icarus or me playing the saint or
anything like that.
I remember my feet were swine
packed into two cruel cages, my back was braced
by stiff taffeta and twelve-hour smiles
and wishing I was at home
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