Alex McGill

I’M FEELING LESS ROMANTIC LATELY

my body opened and then closed,
untrusting and undeserving

on bike rides I let my mind wander
ahead of me across the pavement

I let metal press into my peach legs
until bruises dot the insides of my knees

I want to touch you the way I do fruit
in the grocery store

testing ripeness, readiness
are you sad? do you miss me?

I can’t stop crying in public and
it’s embarrassing

each day I wake up
so abruptly, calm interrupted

mourning light streaking
softly across my pillows

reminding me how
I opened to you like a wound

I write letters
and address them to you

I can’t remember what
there is to love about me

I’m in my bed alone
I’m waiting to scab

IN TOUCH

I am infinity

I am barely holding on
bare skin and bared knuckles
the air finally feels cool on my neck

but I’m still suffocating
under this weight that won’t lift

I hold my breath and my head under water
until I almost inhale it
claw myself to the surface for relief
suspend myself, weightless

my ears are submerged and all I can do is
feel

loneliness in my whole body
I am the sun, loneliness orbits
gravitational pull
I am my own galaxy
map my stars, my skin a constellation

I am the river to your late summer rainfall
downpour overflowing
slipping through me until I’m not sure
I can feel you, sinking to my depths

a piece of me is lost and I can’t find it
anywhere

I am a tiny speck
I wish I could submerge for all time
cease to exist except as a particle

a speck of salt in the endless water
a grain of sand worn down by
years of wave patterns and tidal shifts

I am a tide that is shifting
I want to be part of the ecosystem

Alex McGill is a writer and editor living and working in Toronto. She is also the Online Editor of Normale Magazine.

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