Poetry by Anna Abraham Gasaway

       George Bremer CC




Dear Sciatica,

You had me up at two in the morning, 
then four eighteen then six oh two clenching 
charley horse run amok, the body is never 
more animal than when in pain, a rabbit 

with its leg cut off by the rototiller
in the making of a garden. Father took him
in a tin cup to Wednesday night meeting 
believing that prayers would grow the limbs back.

Bunnies don’t cry, though their eyes become wide and dark. 
We danced last night, you and I; you with your twisting, 
you with your jumping. I could only keep up 
for an instant `before plunging into the cold 

cramp rebellion. Why do we forget pain 
so easily? In its absence, a sort of wonder— 
gratefulness for the reprieve. But then
there’s depression or a busted tail

light or the old dog who won’t quit licking
his wound so there’s blood on the floor. Thank you,
oh air or force or creator who has granted me 
the ability to kneel down, to clean. Amen. 





Spoken on the Birth of Sylvia Sage Gasaway, Still

The Lord disciplines those He loves. / This never happens to bitches. / Where’s the baby? / She’s in a better place. / We should get together. / Jesus cries with you. / I have to go get snacks. / My daughter would have been forty-two, I still mark her birthday. / This cheesecake is amazing. / Maybe something was wrong. / Let’s watch Team America World Police again. / These things happen move on. / Fuck Sharp Mary Birch. / I could use a drink. / Where’s the baby? / Maybe she was never meant to be. / Let’s go shopping. / Maybe she will come back in a different form. / Dead kids, my sister had them after the war. / Here are some cabbage leaves. / Butterflies are often a sign that she’s close to you. / Did you read the scripture verses I sent you? /  I’m getting pizza want some? / You look fabulous. / You’re still talking about that? / I could whack Dr. O— like Tony from The Sopranos. / You’re young, you can try again. / Are you going to eat all of the chocolate chip cookies? / You’ll see her again. / Here are some flowers. / Here is a Comfort Cub. / Here is a list of resources. / Here is a lock of her hair. / Where’s the baby? / Where’s the baby? /

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Paralyzed on the Tenth Step

(Cento from Owl at Home)

Tonight, I will make tear-water tea. Think
of things that were sad, never seen again.

Wind pushed Owl against the wall. Winter
made the window shades flap and shiver.

To be upstairs and downstairs at the same
time. Owl sat on the tenth step—a place

right in the middle of the edge of the sea.

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Anna Abraham Gasaway (She/Her) is an emerging, disabled writer published in Cream City Review, Poetry International, Literary Mama, One Art and others.  She received her MFA in Creative Writing at San Diego State University and serves as an editorial assistant for the Los Angeles Review. She can be found on Twitter/X at @Yawp97 and IG: annagasaway.
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