This article is written by a student writer from the Her Campus at Ship chapter.
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.