Tag Archives: Amy Woschek Schmidt

Adoption Story

Naming lays claim to the particular body. I know you because I named you. But I didn’t name you. She did, the woman who lights nine candles on your birthday cake, tiny flames scattering shadows on her face. She sings … Continue reading

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If I Say

darkness had no regard for the kitchen’s light or the sound of a man sobbing could easily be confused with the sound of a wintery lake pummeling a rocky shore with ice or an empty door frame’s shape could bring … Continue reading

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Lament, Lucidly and with Conviction

He was not beautiful. Shorter than me, skinny, big nose. I had lost my sense or maybe it was his touch, his hands like a made-up word seared into my skin again and again. If I say I can’t believe … Continue reading

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That Which We Give to, Every Night

Ask the bed sheets what they’ve seen and heard and they will answer much. Skin and sweat, cell and salt. Melody of muffled laughter, sobs as from a chest’s deep cave. Angry words absorbing like spilled wine, staining. Then the … Continue reading

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