© 2023 by MCLA Spires. 

The Company of Others

March 5, 2018

a pattern emerges:
I flatten myself, turn
sharp corners—make edges
out of elbows, knees, ankles, wrists.
Fingers crack with a tap.
I fold my head to my chest, chest to my waist,
waist to my knees, knees to ankles, and ankles to feet—
A collapsing woman,
taciturn mouth,
gossamer skin stretched
over dead eyes searching,
and starving for reclusion.

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