springtime

springtime


I worry I've forgotten how to shave. 
That my hands, unfocused under the water,
won’t know where to go. 

Bring the razor to the crown of your head, 
your fingertips, 
the skin behind your ankle,
collarbones, 
mouth, 
crook of your toe.

Your body will move on without you
keeping pace with an agenda you
haven’t looked at in weeks. 

The coffee is waiting, 
the toast melts in the toaster, 
a grapefruit goes rotten. 

Can I call out to you? 
Through wires and frayed ends of rope, 
tape left on my wall, 
finding new beautiful things to patch onto my body. 

It has nothing to do with sickly sweet prayers or loathing
in the form of cutting too close to the neck--

it’s the long empty road towards healing, 
kept in the lonely moments of the day we learn to forget. 
 

 

By Zoë Brouns.

Zoë Brouns is a UC Berkeley graduate and ‘proud queer woman’ currently living and working in St. Louis, MO. You can find her on Twitter at @alonelysloth and some of her other work at sea foam mag and Vagabond City Lit. She tends to take inspiration from the world around her, be it moments grand or deemed insignificant, as well as personal experiences/relationships.