across her browline and her lip corners
a crumpled road map
destinations:
parentheses around her mouth
sing, a young soldier laughs on a USO tour
the seam above her eyebrow
drives her first Cadillac
crow’s feet at eye corners
speak her daughter’s first words
venus’s rings around her neck
burn with turnings of her head
furrows over her nose
hold her mother’s hand the last time
but after the power went out,
she recorded a new message on her answering machine
and
there was a crackle, a dip,
a waver a quiver a shiver
a second that her vocal cords
didn’t weave the notes together
even after take #8, 9
10-15-22
she sang
into the pinkynail microphone, her whispered breath
squeaking
against notes she knew she knew.
Lauren Annette Boulton will graduate from Saginaw Valley State University in August with a bachelor’s degree in Creative Writing. When she is not writing, she enjoys working for the Michigan Department of Natural Resources, substitute teaching, making chocolates and candles, camping, and hanging out with her ten-month-old nephew. This is her first major publication.
