Victoria Stitt: Stuck in Among

stuck in among

blown ash u emit an aura of ashes u

blow ur halo dust i touch the halo

a layer of grey paint coated on ur

finger u paint my face fragmented

features floating up + away features my

eye forward + right my bottom lip long

+ left a tendered patience each stroke

patient u press deftly to panel a thick

grey paint easy paint the grab the

ease in go like tongues on each other ease

oil merely compliments a mere passing

landscape behind eyes u oscillate ur

eyes the iris looks upward + at evading

+ giving generous

distance i touch the back of ur

head u move my hand so

i grab ur fingers thumb i smooth wrinkles

in ur joints + i hold then u move suddenly

i move i

blow forward i blow white ash

webbed between finger beds u horizontal u

curve spine sunlight compresses it follows

shadowed fabric ur soft hand on my neck

fingers compress throat not closed head

hanging in ease trapezius loose the birds

outside on the small tree blend with

brown shriveled leaves hang

weak tree-limbs white blossoms on

tree-limbs my knee softly bruises

ur hips ur

under-eyes blue translucent grey there

a valley between the mattress stained-sweat

skin greasy a voice carries bus doors

close horn blares gravel scatters a short

winter a sequestered spring it sounds the

same bodies echo it is

impossible to capture

at-once the ache in bladder the siff toe the

need the release of air the hammer-like

faraway voice mother the faraway voice

father the tickle in the throat the

release the chimes 19th street humming

cars faraway child calls the sound of saliva

released tongue from roof tongue the sun

on succulents gasp in the look across the

mattress a small withered concern stratus

light-stretched clouds filtered like

gossamer empty shelves in grocery

stores carts flown over unessentials

panic toilet paper bought long

sighs stop breathing

so loud from the back of your

throat the disdain is palpable like

webs of disease laced

corner to corner school tables

canceled leaving posts of radical

empathy sick leave rejected u touch i move

near it burns the virus scours ash i don’t

write things no longer re member or

see limbs fractured + fallen the

ligaments visible to whoever

buys the last hand sanitizer in the

end times does this love survive

because it should or because i

don’t want to be alone when it

all falls down my blue eyeshadow

peels off in red rash ash fallen raw

the dogwoods blossom white

speckled branches arch on spruce

and pine we walk hand in

hand so happy smiling a child with

two braids looks at me but does

not smile children know they know

more now untrusting of the world

they were born into cracked they see

i am not there i am floating above

us looking down asking how we

got here i hum

to quiet the soul ribs closing

opening again limbs close their flowers

quiet night my lips pressed against

the pillow

Victoria Stitt is a black poet and an English teacher. Philadelphia has always been home; her lineage may not have begun there, but it is now there, robustly. Her work has been published in Swarthmore College's literary magazines, and she is currently an MFA candidate at Warren Wilson College.