Poetry by Lea McNeil

                ​Nathalie CC



Room


Because the pillow with my name in pink 
is the same shape when I get home, and 
sticker stars and paper planets glow bright 
above my bed. Because on the other side 
of the wall, my sister is playing 
I come from a place that hurts on repeat. 
Because holes in the door frame 
hang beads. Because against the closet door, 
a hoop, and the bright orange ball bounces. 
Because Sunny Delight explodes against 
the front of the house and a hair-spray bottle 
shatters my sister’s window. Because on 
the living room couch is a yellow-knit throw 
thrown over my brother’s head. Because 
my legs shiver on the bathroom tile and they 
hung loose in the oak outside my window 
before the branches I could climb 
were chopped down. Some branches 
take up too much space, my mother says.

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Lea McNeil is a bisexual American poet, mother, and mental health counselor living in Amsterdam.