The American Poetry Review

THREE POEMS

Survival Gown

Beneath your skin, a flood
of glass is surfacing. It means I stay
alone for years

during your week
in the hospital. You breathe like rose
hips crushed, mouth too muddy

to believe. I’m one to talk.The stylist asks if I want my liesto show through. I wade intoa flooded pass. No doctorsattend to me. I dream your departure,parting my hair

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