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 1 Poem by Abigail Burns

Shrinking Pains

She fused her body to the arm of the couch 
The other reaching out as though touch were a comfort 
As though touch could be a comfort still—after 
she shrinks herself             desperate to stave off connection 
 
There is cruelty here 
It multiplies 
in those places where longing should be
if not for the violence committed 
against her body—and again 
 
We do not grow crooked 
nor straight 
The blinds were kept closed against the light
to stop the neighbors seeing
We made ourselves small—or 
We were made to be small 
 
Decay ruptured our bones
Dust on the TV stand 
Crumbs between the couch cushions    
Our bodies the evidence 
of neglect or despair
 
Years pass 
She whispers to me still 
What if the mess is all she is?
Or can be 
 
She forgets sometimes 
I was there, too 
Shrinking beside her             kept far from the light
It’s okay—I forget myself too 
 
There is cruelty here 
We are none of us whole   


 

Abigail Burns holds an MFA in Creative Writing from the University of Notre Dame. Her work has appeared in Bending Genres, Unbroken Journal, Pidgeonholes, and elsewhere.
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