every morning, i grip the stillness gathered on bolts // and toss it into my
mouth like fruit pulp // this year, the human body is caged // for how it yields,
deconstructs under another’s breath // a touch, the electricity of kissed skin
sparked in summer // i, too, am aware of all the ways in which i am weak //
how closed doors keep my toes from freezing // how the attic is where best to
store // those tiny blankets, nibbled under paisley wings // a night when gold
was confessed on the sill // how it feels when my joints become nails in a peen
// and i ask what more will bend? // nesting dolls stew // darkness feeds them
dust from milk bottles // inside is something like origami paper // i tell myself
these crates are necessary prisons // my boyfriend tells me one of them is not.
DANAE YOUNGE is an undergrad, an editor for Kalopsia Literary Journal, and an award-winning writer whose work has appeared in over thirty publications across the US, UK, Canada, Pakistan, and internationally. Publications include Bacopa Literary Review, Salamander Magazine, Perhappened Magazine, Invisible City Literary Journal, as well as five worldwide print anthologies. She was a selected winner of National Poetry Quarterly’s annual competition in 2020 and her flash fiction piece, "Skeletons Don't," was long listed for Grindstone Literary's international contest. You can read more of her work at danaeyounge.com and follow her on Instagram @danae_celeste_.