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
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.
