a missive for the front - by Megan Amero

a missive for the front

by Megan Amero

i sit perched at the writing desk, feeling my place like keira knightley in a corset; the rightness of my body in the activity, directing my thoughts homeward, watching your feet fall as you run on down to the war room where authors write battle plans like love letters and tactics are just

arrangements— didn’t you know i’m new england’s worst daughter? i’ve always hated the taste of mussels shucked clean from clattering shells, pearls rolling loose like the doll’s eyes basement mice like to chew on, turn your tongue over for a change, talk of fairness as copper casings pass your lips

ink tastes like sea salt if you drink it from the source take this letter as i am–i have written us into a corner.