I speak in my mother’s voice because
she can’t, fill the space in my head
with emblems made from wardrobes
and dresses I slept in. The half-ring
on wood meant thump-thump-thump
would burn my skin. Now I’m inside
a mirror, a square of light eats me whole.
Christopher W. Clark (@chriswillclark) reads, writes, and teaches things. Their poems have featured in various publications including The Cadaverine and Ink, Sweat, & Tears. They have collaborated with The Royal Philharmonic Society and photographer Mick Frank among others. They are currently working on a chapbook and full-length novel dealing with the intersections of class and queerness.
Emerge Literary Journal 