BEDYARD BONES: REVISITED
I've been keeping track
of ghosts you left
in my head.
Your silhouette plastered
j a y w a l k i n g
through intersections of
memory, waiting to be
Empty echoes of coffee
kisses pressed in elbow
creases, silence where
once cupped laughter
pooled in my palms, the
feverish lash of your
tongue slicing in soft
spots of flesh ( hid
den) in my
Your toes have worn a
shadow across the floor,
dark footprints in the
carpet. My feet are still
too tiny to fill the gaping
vacuum of expectations
you drew along the
doorjamb. No matter
how I strain or stretch,
all my marks still fall
I awake every night with
a phantom at the foot of
my bed, grasping fingers
at my ankles scraping
nails against my knees
bound by hands that
vanish when eyes
Years later, your ghost
still haunts my midnight.
WHERE I LAY MY BONES
You do not disappear all at once.
I have been slowly disappearing for years.
A strip-tease of naked skin that winks
in burnished day light a polished opal,
crystalline, crushed—then flickers out,
smoke curling around my hip bones,
casting lines of sun-swirling dust
a clouded mirage in a tiny, invisible box.
I have always been a shadow in the making.
A puddle of rainbow oil pooling in a forgotten
drive, sulfur-scented and slick between your fingers.
Play the space between my collarbones,
harpsichord and xylophone,
notes only pretty beneath a swell of other sounds.
I am a question mark in the shape of a girl,
forever punctuating the end of others’ statements,
trying to belong, to be loved, in a way that feels
like a dress, pearled buttons along my spine and lace
hand-wrapped, nestled under my throatlatch.
I am a question mark, a trailing ellipsis,
voiceless corrections in the brackets
imbedded deep in the paragraphs.
There is no tomorrow.
There is a morgue in my bed, ribcage splintered
open, the cracked binding of a novel, unloosing
a tangle of red ribbons, untied, pinky-less.
AMY WILLIAMSON is a graduate student of Youngstown State University and a student of fiction in the Northeast Ohio MFA program. She is both the secretary and a reader for Youngstown State’s online literary journal Jenny Magazine. Her poem “Auto Correct” is forthcoming in the May issue of the Gordon Square Review.