Stark sheets glare against smoke trails
curling along your forearm, traverse
the knob of elbow and gnaws along
your bicep. The image, she curls up
your wrist, engulfing your arm in
contrast and light, ripping herself
along your flesh, peeling back
the grime of hard-won expectations.
I’ll remake you, cut from scattered
constellations, pin them down
star by star. I’ll shape your hands
around my name, press them tight
against hip bones that jut, sharp enough
to raze, graze them against me, come
away sliced open and bleeding your
life into mine. Bruise those lips
against my cheek, break yourself
against my spine and I’ll blanket
you in kisses rent from stars.
For now Miss Graham traverses the tundra that is South Dakota, while tripping over things while stargazing in the all too brief summer months. She is the crux of an ongoing love affair between the Pacific and Atlantic. She managed to pry an M.F.A in Poetry from the grasp of Converse College. In 2011 she received the Lucy Gordon Hall award from Ohio Wesleyan University and in 2013 was a nominee for the AWP Emerging Writer Award. You can find more of her work in The Night Owl, RealSouth Magazine, the OWL or online at britgraham.com
Devilfish Review 