Brydie McPherson
Abandon's Garden
37 pages


Crossed over into spaciousness this nourishment neglects me: being company of others in vicinity. Instead the self-sphere split too tightly. A plan left me unbending in its binding. I severed by command of yours, our duplexity of bodies. Compartmentalized the rooms of our ungrounded union. A city's recreation was our paradisal garden. You wreathed me ivy for a headdress. I wore flowers to the sea. Rationed action into dim dimensions. In a letter your cavity of speech still haunts me.

It was the shadow of a bird that made me see you. Paid a visit to the institution, towered over me where your body should have been. The patients teased I was a model on a Glamour, pointed at the cover. You blushed and yet presented me. Plucked a daisy from my hand. Who had been displayed here?

A week dumped fear on my belongings. Outside the door you held me on your lap while we discussed the brimmings of abandon. You say women wreck me but what about the one you've shuttled into regions of displacement? Verging here between gusts of unlatch and grasp. Gasps into her body, "hold me in your palm, I am the pageant of a tragedy." We ran together through a field upswept by certain currents, hurling histories of pilfers of the pregnant land. Together not entirely for you were not within the self. Your hand between our pockets, folding under farce of force.