In February error sank me
to the depths of my bedroom.
Not to surface again till June.
Vainly I managed to take care
of my face but let my body parch.
Went silent till I could call myself healed,
no longer riddled with cracks.
Didn’t have the lacquer and gold to join them.
A fresh spring of fear welled up from my gut
and through them like dark tea,
filling the room. I quailed and choked.
Hinged everything on the acts just after waking.
Threw many days away.
The tea cooled, bittered.
Then slowly some crude caulk
began to stop the ever-running.
Slowly the waters ran off my vessel.
A day dispatched me without pain.
The hatch opened to broad sunlight
and a trembling reunion with core self,
with my breasts and friends and cackle.

Montanan poet Ellie Snyder writes and manages social media for a global nonprofit and is passionate about literature, fashion and music. Find her work in Pangyrus, Magpie Zine, Pinky, The Headlight Review and elsewhere, and find her fitchecks on Instagram @elliegsnyder.