When the Animals
When the Animals
still talk to you after he left town
and you are not yet a fish murderer
stop turning around, thinking he will call you woman.
You wring hands and bills and remember
how he always called you gold.
Fluorescent lights blind and hamsters spin
You miss him the damn green dragon spits.
Your body parts won’t come back. Nor will his.
You haven’t let go says the tortoise.
You don’t know how.
He won’t speak, says the snake.
His tongue and heart no longer yours.
They never were.
Sarah Jefferis holds an MFA from Cornell and a PhD in Creative Writing from SUNY Binghamton. Her most recent poetry collection, What Enters the Mouth, was published by Standing Stone Books in 2017. Her poems, nonfiction and fiction have appeared in The Cimarron Review, RHINO, The Mississippi Review, The American Literary Review, The Hoxie George Review, and others. Through her consultant business, Write. Now., Sarah serves as a 1:1 writing coach and editor for writers across multiple genres.
Header image credit to Ahmed Zayan
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