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Adrian Sanders

Updated: Feb 9, 2022

Us, in the Morning

The mattress tenses under muscles of the un-sleepy

your mouth is a slow lip of fire

your mouth yawns over hip bone

& stops to bite me bare

I have a theory about your hands

how the print, the purple grip

permeates through skin onto

guts & organs & bones

Maybe

it’s not a theory at all

because I can feel it:

you turn me into a hummingbird—

into a hive


 


Last Words

I want a white-wicker desk

with a drawer big enough

for my body. I want to

know firsthand what the dirt

grows from me.

Do not dress me

in church-ruffles or lace. Wrap me

in honeysuckle vines & sow

arils into my hair.

Let me have my paper—

plant pens above me

and when I pull them under

keep the holes clean. Watch

me turn vein-blue in the sunlight. Watch

me unclench my fists.


 

Adrian Sanders is a recent creative writing graduate of Western Kentucky University and social media intern for The Field Office. Her work has appeared in Jelly Bucket, Red Mud Review, Indiana Review Online as well as other journals.

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