Checking the ceiling corners
for spiders and constellations,
I hear my voice ask
are you alone
is there anyone
but my chest is cresting
and I pull the shirt from my stomach.
The scent of laundry is strong
and the Unmentionables bleed
fiber into fabric softener.
The letter L is written
on my hand in case I forget.
Unaddressed postcards tumble,
creasing their silhouette.
Dogeared pages turn teary
as the glue unravels.
Against the vibrations,
I worry about spilling cups of coffee
and move that to the dryer too.
The static tears my skin,
snagging my spine
one stitch at a time.
Shrinking, unraveling–
the vowels and consonants
hang on the line
too damp to be read.

 

 

Amy LeBlanc holds an honours BA in English Literature and creative writing at the University of Calgary where she is Editor-in-Chief of NōDMagazine.  Her work has appeared in Prairie Fire, (Parenthetical), Untethered, and Canthius among others, and she received second place in the 2016 Blodwyn Memorial Prize for fiction.  Amy also has work forthcoming in Room, Contemporary Verse 2, and The Antigonish Review. Her chapbook, “Collective Nouns for Birds” was published by Loft on Eighth Press in December.

 

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