Gingerbread House Lit Mag

Pretending to Be Mermaids

Your fingers are ivory keys
playing careful and tedious scales
across my body.

I wish you would crawl
into my mouth, thread
your tongue with my vocal cords;

remind me how to sing
in this world where monsters   stack    bricks
across my chest, threatening to suffocate

daydreams.     Daylight breaks     across our horizon
of dirty dishes, lipstick stained
shot glasses lined with gritty water

that leaks     over the edge of this metal sink
where I rest,
wrapped up in you.

I wonder
if our bodies could wrap
until skin is unsure     where to end.

Perhaps then
we’ll crash     through      pipes
and grow gills, stretch homemade fins

until we discover
how to breathe
in this wide     and dangerous sea,

immune to labeled glances
cast by sinister creatures
who cannot understand

the music
you create
in my bones.

Teri Klauser

Teri Klauser earned her MA in English and her BFA in Creative Writing from Stephen F. Austin State University. She has publications in The Mochilla Review and The Gordian Review. Teri currently teaches English at Tyler Junior College in Texas as a full time professor. 

Artwork: Anna Dittmann, Out of the Sea


This entry was published on May 31, 2018 at 12:05 am and is filed under 30 (May 2018), Poetry. Bookmark the permalink. Follow any comments here with the RSS feed for this post.
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