throw salt over your shoulder.
say his name
three times &
turn around. see yourself
in the mirror; break.
have. you found out.
this is how it happens. clean
up shards, clean up tiles,
thighs, neck.
clean up your room.
the fish has not been fed.
throw a birthday
party for your self-
pity. throw the mementos out—
ticket stubs, ribbons (once wrapped
flowers). there’s blood on
carpet, scent of meat on cream
fibers. you made breakfast
yesterday. you will make lunch
today. dinner tomorrow.
your sunflowers are
getting higher, almost
reaching your window
pane. put the salt back in the
shaker. clean up the bloodied
rug (it never seems to come
out completely). your wrists
are strawberry fields, plowed.
make a sandwich. sit down.
eat. say your name three times.
look at the chrome of the toaster,
see your own freckled face;
stare back.
Published in Cider Press Review, Volume 18, Issue 5.
Charlotte Covey is from St. Mary’s County, Maryland. She is currently pursuing an MFA in Poetry at the University of Missouri – St. Louis in Fall 2016. She has poetry published or forthcoming in journals such as The Normal School, Salamander Magazine, Slipstream, The MacGuffin, and The Summerset Review. She is co-founder and co-Editor-in-Chief of Milk Journal.
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