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I drop the dark slip of night and step into morning one leg at a
time. This routine of vestments calms the stutter of leftover
ghosts, smooths the caul covering my face. Clothed this way,
no one knows I am crawling with sorrow’s calligraphy, its ink
trailing on my skin, your name in the small of my back,
something hidden. In dreams, your hummingbird hands hover
over my body, press into the pillow, relief as monument to
your leaving. This is a sort of mourning, this wearing of days. I
row out into the ocean of hours blindfolded, without compass,
without moorings. I survive in this fashion, my shoulders
circling, my hands blistered on the oars.
Donna Vorreyer‘s A House of Many Windows was released in 2013 by Sundress Publications. Her poetry and prose has appeared or is forthcoming in many journals including Rhino, Weave, Cider Press Review, and Labletter. Her words have also roamed the green pastures of Cease, Cows.