One Night You Grew Silent

By Palmer Smith

You said you wanted me

when you turned to face the lamppost.

The snowflakes caught your eyelashes

on the last languid Christmas.

Your fingertips braided my hair.

Your chilled lips smoothed my legs.

Your breath in hot clouds warmed my skin.

Maybe I love you a little.

I stand in line at the DrugStore.

There are fake Christmas trees.

I stand in line with closed eyes.

In the warm bathwater

I inhale the exhaust

of a cigarette smooshed

into my mother’s glass bowl.

A reflection of my stomach,

of what could be below it...

And then I hear the phone line go numb.

Lifted the window to devour the snowed

and bitten air on a wet,

soon to-be whaled body.

Palmer is a graduate of Sarah Lawrence College and an incoming MFA and MA student. She has worked as a paralegal since 2018. She has written for Refresh Magazine, The Online Journal for Person-Centered Dermatology, Sea Maven Magazine, Calm Down Magazine,The French Press Zine and level:deepsouth, with work forthcoming in The Remington Review.