by Theresa Senato Edwards

of what was,
draw circles counterclockwise /
worry the body is / weight
dessert / just ice.

And the dead shouldn’t
circle its breaking.

But I was born with superstitions
in the gift shop / of / personality

change / not my mistake.

And my body will never be still
in the memory of my parents’ home—

father building basement walls
teaches me, his last daughter, to paint
thin layers with each coat,

ration the paint as if my life depended
on each stroke of color saved

/ to position

a nail like a flagpole,
steady / straight,

fear of missing the small, silver target

unable / to not wanting to /
build away
an attic crawlspace: a safe gap

for a little girl before sorrow
metastasized.

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Theresa Senato Edwards has published two full-length poetry books, one, with painter Lori Schreiner, which won The Tacenda Literary Award for Best Book, and two chapbooks. Edwards was nominated twice for a Pushcart Prize, received creative writing residencies from Drop Forge & Tool and Craigardan, and is Poetry Editor of The American Poetry Journal (APJ). For more, see her website: https://theresasenatoedwards.wixsite.com/tsenatoedwards.