Sarah MacDonell

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it’s no coincidence
my favourite love stories are piecemealed
through perforated sheets

as a girl, emboldened by
Hedda Gabler,
I stroked the bureau

to stone-pockets

punctuated by unfinished flooring

we eat our births
with spoons from
yellow linen

I think of Kate Chopin
& Zora Neale Hurston
        to swim
    to sink

that was my mother’s too

if they laugh off,
reviewed     “unsatisfying ambiguity”

S could swim though
S could swim,
    though when wading

with the one whose name
tightens around your wrists

who packs ice trays down esophagus

he’ll tell you about his neglectful mother,
his reclusion, his fumbling for keys
after coming home drunk

and she’ll feel these blister
and bloom     inside her

in cruelty
she’ll hush the dawn,

nettles, and voicemails

from the shoreline, drowned
out by wind     shouting,
it’s okay, the sheets are sewn, the sheets are sewn!


Sarah MacDonell writes, bakes and scuttles around Ottawa. She is the social media manager for Tree Reading Series and a contributing editor for Canthius. She performs and publishes in vestibules around town.