The Passed Note Issue 4 June 2017 - Page 29

Ian C. Williams


Could you take my picture?

I want to know this moment

slipped its thicket

into the light—

to cinch it against my ribs

so no one can say it didn’t

happen. I’ve climbed

from the bellies of too many whales

to believe they can’t

swallow me again.

I’ve been dressing in

someone else’s clothes, and for the first

time, I try to slide my limbs through

narrow sleeves—I’m finding them too small.

My strings are clipped and woven in

a nest by my feet—is this

my home? Please—

leave the light on for me.