& the truth is, I could have
done it. Could have ripped
the animal from my jaw,
could have bruised the bone
of this body until it gave way.
But some things don’t spark
right & I know my name now.
Twelve sinners poured over
for the saint we all knew couldn’t
be, but we’re still here. The whole
time we choked quiet like a learned
thing & thought how when the body
folds out what it cannot open,
we too can shape a crease.
Mary Sims is a 19-year-old poet and writer published in The Poetry Annals, Kingdoms of the Wild, Mooky Chick, Anatolios Magazine, Moonchild Magazine, and more. She is currently working on her BA in English, and spends her days reading, collecting books, and exploring antique shops.
Find her on Twitter: @rhymesofblue
Feature Image by Annie Spratt on Unsplash