Gris-Gris, an online journal of literature, culture & the arts

Love Letter

by Donika Ross Kelly

I wake each morning.
And am disappointed in the waking.

In the evening, in the hours before sleep,
I drag canyons into my forearms, dredge

the little tributaries of mud and fish.
These pits and hollows make a mess of everything

they touch. I am reeling, spooling
away from what holds muscle to bone.

Tumbling from what holds me to the world.
O to do away with the meat and light of me.

I wake each morning.
And am disappointed in the waking.

In the evening, in the hours before sleep,
I drag canyons into my forearms, dredge

the little tributaries of mud and fish.
These pits and hollows make a mess of everything

they touch. I am reeling, spooling
away from what holds muscle to bone.

Tumbling from what holds me to the world.
O to do away with the meat and light of me.