I forget who I am. Not silk or glow like the skin I was born into.
Not evening song swishing over sleepy bodies. They’re too old
to remember cradle sway, my hands sea breeze wafting them into reverie,
too young to understand how memories can splinter under the crack of unmeasured words.
Not human but sea holly, I crave the hush and breadth of sand dunes but they storm into the room
I am tidying, tossing toys far and wide. Their laughter catches on my thorns, falls in flakes at my feet.
Not human but stargazer, an uglier version of my blue groper nature. There are times they bury me
up to my face in complaints and my scream leaps at them, shocking them into compliance.
There are times I am rock, deaf to their demands, tumbling over the cliff of my sanity. They climb
and climb, seeking the peak of my love. Rock, engulfed in a rising sea, holding their hands as I count to three.
Julie Weiss’s debut chapbook, The Places We Empty, will be published by Kelsay Books in July 2021. In 2020, she was a finalist in Alexandria Quarterly’s first line poetry contest series and for The Magnolia Review’s Ink Award. In 2019 she was a Best of the Net Nominee. Recent work appears in Better Than Starbucks, Praxis Magazine, Kissing Dynamite Poetry, and Anti-Heroin Chic, among others, and she has poems in many anthologies, as well. Originally from California, she lives in Spain with her wife and two young children. You can find her on Twitter @colourofpoetry or on her website at https://julieweiss2001.wordpress.com/.