01 Oct 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.