The clothes sighed heavy
Dead fish hooked
Side by side, drab and dull
Limp fins and pleats

Missing smells of sweat and skin
Morning spray, lavender and lilac
Did you wear clean underwear?
There must have been an accident
Whispered the underthings in private
Remembering swell of breast, nipple nudge
Having nothing to support or protect
Hollow sleeves and legs
Skin of fish
Peeled away revealing
No meat
Blouses flap
The final flip, dying fish


Heather M. Browne is a faith-based psychotherapist and recently emerged poet, published in the Orange Room, Boston Literary Review, Page & Spine, Eunoia Review, Poetry Quarterly, Red Fez, Electric Windmill, mad swirl. MCI just published her chapbook, We Look for Magic and Feed the Hungry. Follow her:

Share →

Leave a Reply

Your email address will not be published. Required fields are marked *

You may use these HTML tags and attributes: <a href="" title=""> <abbr title=""> <acronym title=""> <b> <blockquote cite=""> <cite> <code> <del datetime=""> <em> <i> <q cite=""> <s> <strike> <strong>