Grape stems caught between my teeth,
the freezer-burnt bread I thawed for my sister.
I got into the habit of swallowing the blackberries whole.
I saved yarn trimmings in a vase. Called garlic peelings jackets.
Fell asleep to the sound of fake rain; ate a bowl of cereal at three in the morning.
There’s another clock inside me now.
It is Leo season, and the Mars Rover is singing “Happy Birthday” to itself again.
Gutted history book. Orange sky dulling the senses.
Breadcrumbs collected in bedsheets. Grains of rice shriveled on the dinner plates.
The film professor reminded me every week: silence is a sound.
I sang “Down in the Willow Garden” to my neighbor’s shadow last night.
My eardrum won’t stop pounding, a dying fish against the dirt.
When the pill bottle’s empty, I hold it to my ear like a conch shell.
Lyd Havens is a writer and fiber artist originally from Tucson, Arizona. Her poems have previously been published in Ploughshares, Poetry Northwest, and New Delta Review, among others. She is the author of the chapbooks Chokecherry (Game Over Books, 2021) and I Gave Birth to All the Ghosts Here (Nostrovia! Press, 2018), as well as the co-author of I Wish I Wasn’t Royalty: A Playable Chapbook (Game Over Books, 2020). Lyd currently lives in Boise, Idaho, where she’s working on a full-length poetry collection about intimacy, food, and intimate food. More of her work can be found at lydhavens.com