Blanket Sea

Magazine & Press

Page 28 of 29

“Letter Enclosed” by Amy LeBlanc

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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Photography by Megan Sadler of My(chronic)Self

“Depression”

(Black and white photo of a woman resting her head on her knee. She is bare-faced, eyes downcast in somber reflection; her unkempt hair falls loosely over her shoulders. )

“Pretty on the Outside, Pain on the Inside”

(Off-centered portrait of a woman. Half of her face is made-up, in full color, with hair neatly braided. The other half is bare-faced, in black and white with unkempt hair. )

“This is What A Bad Day Looks Like”

(Black and white photo of a woman lying on a bed, knees to chest. Her eyes are closed, face obscured by shadow while the rest of her body is illuminated by sunlight.)

“Reflection”

(Black and white photo of a woman holding a hand mirror. Her back faces the camera, the top half of her face is visible in the mirror’s reflection.)

“My(chronic)Self”

(Black and white photo of a woman looking over her shoulder in profile towards sunlight. Her face is obscured and bathed in brightness.)

Artist’s Statement:

People don’t see me on my worst days. When I’m in a flare, I live on my couch; safe from the prying eyes of the world. That’s what inspired me to start My(chronic)Self, a series of self-portraits I publish in conjunction with posts on my blog of the same name. When I am at my weakest with an IBS or Endometriosis flare in progress, I pull out my camera to document it. My goal is to bring the viewer into my world at my worst moments. This is what chronic illness looks like and it’s not pretty.

 

(These photos first appeared on My(chronic)Self.)

 

 

Megan Sadler is an amateur photographer, blogger, and IBS-D and Endometriosis patient. She holds a Bachelor of Arts degree in Creative Writing from the University of New Mexico. After leaving her job due to her deteriorating health in 2017, she became interested in photography and wanted to find a way to document her life with chronic illness through photos and prose. This turned into a photoblog called My(chronic)Self which debuted in January 2018. A true Pacific Northwest girl at heart, Megan is currently enjoying her new life in Boise; exploring the beautiful Idaho wilderness at every opportunity with hiking boots and camera in tow. You can follow her on Twitter @mychronicself and Instagram @megannicolephotog.

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Poetry by February Grace

Mixed State

Uncross my wires
there’s no one at the
switchboard
your call can’t be completed
as dialed
try again

The fuses pop
breaker after breaker
I’m consumed by silence
and shadows
once they’re
tripped

Speak faster now
I cannot understand you
your world turns
much too cold
for this
fevered mind

Extremes may batter me
but there’s a hellscape in between
please don’t leave me here
alone
like this
mixed

 

Broken

Limbs stiff, joints frozen
made of concrete lined with lead
broken dolls can’t dance

 

(“Broken” first appeared here.)

 

February Grace has been writing since childhood, and has fulfilled her dreams of having poetry, prose, art work, and novels published. She has come “out of retirement” so to speak specifically to submit to Blanket Sea. She lives with Bipolar Disorder, OCD, PTSD, and more chronic illnesses than can fit on an 8X10 sheet of paper in a size 10 font. She enjoys interacting with readers on Wattpad, where her books have more than 2.7 million reads, combined. For more information you can find her on Twitter @FebruaryGrace or on her blog.

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