after Sara Borjas

today I am the jagged bottle caps on my floor
and the unused yoga mat. I want to be swept
up in a wave of forgiveness only a mother
of a young child could muster. I understand
less things now than I did yesterday.
I act betrayed. I endure. when I’m not
reaching for you, I reach for paper
weights, sandbags, bricks without
the holes in them. I once found
a kitten in a brick on the side
of the road and fed her my milk
but when she walked, she scratched
my pillows and mirror and face
and ran out the fire escape. I hear her
wailing at night. my brother screams
his replies. I blast my music to match
their echoes.

I want someone to love
whose laugh matches my
moans. whose hair won’t
fall out like mine so one
of us might last. who can
hold me like I’m Thumbelina,
so we can wash away
together on a lily pad
while I sing them to sleep
and make love
on a bumblebee
until we forget
we could drown
in one teardrop or
run our whole lives,
never escaping the breeze.

Catalina Adragna is twenty-three years old and pursuing an MFA in poetry at Rutgers University, with an undergrad at Bennington College where she studied Poetry and Drama. She has previous publications in Silo Magazine. She is a Gemini and a pocha. Her Twitter: @catadragna.

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