I dream in abstract again, about swimming pools & babies & wheels within wheels & proof of god in my mother’s awe at my stomach about the muscle on the underside of my arms softening & all the chlorine I’ve swallowed coagulating in my belly I wake cold but at least all of the hair on my pillows is mine, & at least I am in my mother’s house again I go tell her my body wasn’t made to be loved over the summer & wait for her to disagree or pray. she holds my hand and says she will wait for the winter with me. Keianna Lewis is a storyteller from New York, now studying Linguistics and Literature at McGill University in Montreal. Comments are closed.
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