Safety

As we cross the bridge, I count a dozen pelicans
perched on the railing, each waiting for the perfect
bite. I imagine my toes curling on the same ledge,
ready to dive at a moment’s notice. I should explain
when I say this that I’m not thinking about death,
that water’s just where I weigh least, and it feels
good to be light and wet and lonely. When we reach
the end of the bridge, conversation exhausted,
the birds long out of view, we’re greeted by a tunnel
of graffiti, messages overlapping in neon. I wish
I could I paint it there, some tag or memorial,
something easy to digest: I am only a hungry bird

hunting for a someplace

it’s safe enough to eat.

---

A fat, bisexual, and invisibly disabled writer, Emily Lake Hansen is the author of the poetry collection, Home and Other Duty Station (Kelsay Books), as well as two chapbooks. Her work has appeared in 32 Poems, CALYX, Pleiades, OxMag, So to Speak, Atticus Review, and Up the Staircase Quarterly, among others. A recent finalist for Frontier Poetry's Breakthrough Chapbook Contest, Emily lives with her very loud family in Atlanta.