This article is written by a student writer from the Her Campus at Ship chapter and does not reflect the views of Her Campus.
This sculpture. This body. This breath. This bluff.
This body. This soul. This whistling wind. This ocean.
This / gloom / repeatedly / sloshing / puddle expanding
all across the floor—. This reading. This ash.
This wave. This is where I lie: on the hill,
on the grass, on the weeds, in the sun / in the sun.
How much, how greatly / must a woman be bruised?
How much, how greatly, have I been bruised?
On the arms, on the chest, on the heart, on the soul:
Bruise like a sour pickle, bruise like a dry canvas.
Bruise like a dented can and a dented can, sharp
and dysfunctional. This graphite. This wire. This being
and mystery. This box. This being in a box. This wire
in the being. This wind in the wire.