Woman as Wet Collection

He tells me, this is science.
These are facts. Your body
bakes the bread. Your knees
bond to the floorboards. Scrub.

Whisper. Speak white noise
but don’t sleep. Warm my shadow.
Keep your knuckles beneath the table
or in the dough. Don’t ask me
to repeat myself, don’t question
my tongue collection on the shelves.

You come from women who float
and marinate in formaldehyde,
who scooped their eyes into jars,
boiled their lips, and served
silence for dinner. Inherit
their dormancy. Be stiff.

He tells me, your body
is my temple. Perish.


Samantha Fain is a writer from Connersville, Indiana. She is an undergraduate student studying psychology and creative writing at Franklin College.
She tweets @samcanliftacar.





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