8/7/2020 Traces by Annick Yerem Ashley Harrigan CC traces the one on my nose where i fell off a sleigh then slid down an icy hill and cut my face open the one on my upper thigh where I fell off my bed onto a tambourine and a bell burrowed itself into my leg the one on my chin where the neighbours` dalmatian whose name was moritz saw a german shepherd on the other side and dragged me across the road the one on my upper lip where my friend`s baby pulled on the cast-iron pagoda in our living-room and smashed it into my mouth the ones on my belly where they cut and prodded again and again i have no words for those the one on my back where they made me titangirl and one of my superpowers was to tie my own shoelaces after a month the ones where you died long before you died and i was your witness ![]() Annick Yerem lives and works in Berlin. In her dreams, she can swim like a manatee. Annick tweets @missyerem and has, to her delight, been published by Pendemic, Detritus, @publicpoetry and RiverMouthReview Comments are closed.
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