Summer Ghosts

Poetry

by Rhienna Renèe Guedry

Plucking away at the parts of flesh and
meat that met our needs parts that were holy parts that
were waste the color plates taught us the difference so
we threw away what we learned to be true about bodies and
changed our vocabulary in the book that came after my longing
played out by your sharp features, hips and legs with the
gravity of cellos, a cavern filled with the sound of the stories
you have heard before and, bless you, allowed me to tell again
you noticed the gaps and shadows where I had forgotten things or lied
the swell of warm nights sucking pellet ice between your tiny
teeth your island feet scrubbed clean by womanhood the way your
glass earrings rolled from your lobes onto the yellow-sheeted
mattress of a bed and breakfast I couldn’t tell you the name of
I recognized your walk, your gait, your frame from a block away
hunting the woman who haunts your dreams in the hope she is ready
to give you answers let’s transpose the two women: yours,
her shock of plum and stars, and mine, with the bones of curled
porcelain hovering like hula hoops around her spine

Rhienna Renèe Guedry is a writer and artist who found her way to the Pacific Northwest, perhaps solely to get use of her vintage outerwear collection. Her work can be found or is forthcoming in Empty Mirror, Bitch Magazine, Screen Door, Scalawag Magazine, Taking the Lane, and elsewhere on the internet. Find more about her projects at rhienna.com or @chouchoot on Twitter.

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