in january, i catch myself with the folded hands i always
swore against, down on my knees on soggy shower tiles,
pitch-black whispers and summer-slick swelter. lights off,
only the dull edges of the doorway hovering yellow-tepid,
suspended here like a statue in prayer. all these motions
microscopic—this turn in my stomach, rubbery, like car tires
rolling on. blood pounding, lips quivering, humming faithless
litanies. covering all my bases, saying, release me, release me.
i sense you in silences, this pearly light untouchable,
unspeakable, unknowable. here there is only a fizzling, a
hushed desertion. surely my mortal words are only static;
surely my wounds make no indentation, but in this moment
i am as foolish as the rest—weeping, hoarse, hollering,
release me! let my cries, dampened by these grey-lit shower
walls, be keen enough to reach you.
Zoe Elisabeth is a poet from Washington, DC and a student at Sarah Lawrence College. She has previously been published in literary journals such as Kissing Dynamite, Caesura, Rust + Moth and Counterclock under the name Zoe Cunniffe. She is also the Associate Editor for Thrush Poetry Journal. Zoe can be found on Instagram at @makeshiftparadises.
