Here is a quiet, a still and humming
shush. Words dissolve
under my fingers, a tide
washing the grains of lost bodies.
My hands tremble, smudged with anger.
My wet breath swells back
and back and back, my retreat
etches lines on the page.
Your hands once held me
from inside. Now I am not lead
or page. I am curled bits blowing
toward every sharp corner.
Allison Berry Blevins received her MFA at Queens University of Charlotte and is a Lecturer for the Women’s Studies Program at Pittsburg State University and the Department of English and Philosophy at Missouri Southern State University. Her poetry has appeared in such journals as the minnesota review, Sinister Wisdom, Pilgrimage, and Josephine Quarterly. She lives in Joplin, Missouri, with her wife and two children.