Chloë H Dennis

You brushed my hair and I could’ve sworn the brush was your hand

Plastic and claw-like

The softness of detangling, could’ve easily been mistaken for your carpet palms

The same could be said for blankets or stiff pillows, my backpack, and, also ice water

I’ve mistaken you for candle flames but also jackets

I could’ve sworn I sang you the other day but it was my own tune

I felt the leaves on a tall willow just to make sure your face wasn’t beneath it

When the cicadas began loudly, the low hum where I can’t see, I turn around endlessly like it could be your voice

I firmly nudge trunks now, just to knock your balance

I mistook your legs for roots

Somehow I wasn’t wrong



A poem

Fetal position is supposed to act

As a shrinkage

Hovering over time periods now vacant

Do you remember when your corset broke

Right in the eye catching view of the hunter? The thief?

Eyes acting as your internal overcast

They don’t remember, but you do

And boy, you run with it

You were truly grown from the lushest, most delectable fruits

But you promote inner rot?

Let it fuzz

Over that higher plane

And all that you could’ve done to stop it

Was simply remove your


From your chest

Look back at your broken corset,

And thank it.