Site icon Elizabeth Wilson


Your Sister Brings Me an Orchard
Your Sister Brings Me An Orchard

Each day after class we sit
on steps together and she pulls

apples from her purple backpack.
We talk about impact, the body

in relation to space in relation to
the body. Or the body in relation

to itself. The body in relation
to another body. I talk circles

like rings inside a tree, suggesting
growth, but I’m going nowhere.

I suggest things. I don’t indicate
my need directly. I am more

ashamed than afraid of judgment.
I think about baptism. I would drown

for you. I would deny
my body to protect you.

I crouch, walk with bad posture
because I'm afraid of taking

too much space. I’m afraid
my body will speak ahead of me.

Nights I sleep with you
I bend and crease myself

into the sheets the way I cover
this paper with my hand.
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