by Marissa Ahmadkhani
It’s driving through fog it’s ocean salt
on skin lungs underwater ragged
breath the light when waking the cold
bathroom floor it’s medication stomach turning
a body creaking a hasty goodbye it’s avalanche
swollen eyes sun hitting water splitting lips
red with wine a mouthful of blood dirt
under fingernails stale air warm and thick
the sun in your eyes erosion
the biting cold suffocating sharp teeth
a fast grip everything slipping
between my fingers
Marissa Ahmadkhani holds an MA in English from Cal Poly San Luis Obispo and is currently pursuing an MFA at the University of California Irvine. Her work has been published or is forthcoming in the minnesota review, Radar Poetry, The West Review, and poets.org, where she received the Academy of American Poets Prize in 2015 and 2017.