by Sharalyn Barg
Some things I know
telescopically: the names
of Jupiter’s moons. Your
voice in cursive, trust me
just trust me. My tar pit
pupils trained on the carpet
as if a patch of crumbs could
tell me what to do. (When spent
we deny deny deny.) I wanted
not to overhear
my own lungs working
nor twist my spine into proof
of it. To say: pick me
up carry me far. Set me on
a reference shelf inside a
field guide to the Canadian
Rockies, a book you open once
then put away
never having visited.
Sharalyn Barg lives in Vancouver, Canada, and studies creative writing at the University of British Columbia. Her work appears in Bending Genres, ELLIE Magazine, Big Whoopie Deal, and others.
January House Literary Journal 
Leave a comment