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The history of bodies
a gloss of stars
in our veins
I am jealous
of every animal
pure as water
through the trees
as a reminder
They put a house
on my bones
unrolled a yard
I am available
for rearrangement
memory’s column
either too long
or too short
black marks
counting down
like claws





Everything outside
the bathtub
is harder
It feels good
to be held with
no expectations
offering a better
Ours limbs rise
faster than heat
Ask what belongs to you
dark bubble of need
a thumb print
showing who’s there
This ice sculpture
is for you
slick decomposition
hurtling comet
Whatever we see
from down here
has a tail
marked by age
or the devil
a pause for breath
before the kill comes
Don’t let them
convince you
suffering is an honest





When you hate me
your body doesn’t
Your body is like
hey friend
hey love
it’s me
I found you
I’m here
My stranger
and your stranger
we are riding around
inside them
Gravity a tether
a tail
We confuse this
with settling
We can medicate this
We nominate
the best doctors
for a cure






Sarah Bartlett lives in Portland, OR. Her debut poetry collection, Sometimes We Walk With Our Nails Is Out, is forthcoming in 2016 from Subito Press. She is the author of two chapbooks, My Only Living Relative, published by Phantom Books in 2015, and Freud Blah Blah Blah, published by Rye House Press in 2014. She has also co-authored two chapbook collaborations. Her recent work has appeared in: Alice Blue, Lit, Fruita Pulp, The Volta, and elsewhere.