Jessica Poli

The gulls still chase me,
heavily. Teeth battered.

In between
my mouth rearranging itself
and you asking what's wrong,

I softly explode like soda
opened underwater.

Things I remain certain of include
the cancer I will someday have
and you.

Lately, I keep windows open and hope
for birds to fly in. I grind teeth down

to nothing. Picture the daughters
we might have had. Envy the sofa
she sits on now.

The barn still swallows me,
and I still come to it unyielding.