Slow Poem 5

White Noise

There were things in the lake and between the sheets,
shadow and salt I could barely make out.
But it was clearer in the mirror
before I shattered the mirror. And after,
the baby had blood in her mouth,
lakewater in her hair.
But lakes aren't salty.
I smelled the salt anyway, and felt the burst
of a dream ending,
though I wasn't sleeping, wasn't crying.
I felt the milk drip on my feet.
For a moment, it wasn't winter.

-Collaboration with Kim at Question Air


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