Head Up by Manon Voice ... shoulders back. Don’t tell them how you struggled to get out of the book laden bed impoverished with broken poetry hooks ringing over your head a quarter widowed wine glass you took with an antidepressant and the taste of your own salt. How you fed the dog and didn’t yourself. How you barely breathed in the shower And clothed yourself in war black because it was easiest to hide in. On the way there was no song somber or sultry enough for the trip, everyday how you survive the loneliness of the driver side the overwhelm of that much control between the breadth of your hands. Don’t tell them how you count miles as the making of a life and numbers grow on you slowly edging you out of risk. Don’t ask yourself “W here have you been? ” after all the “good mornings” and dirt coffee taken with emails. No one after noticed how your legs hang from the desk chair nor ever touch the floor, as if you weren’t her
Flying Island is the Online Literary Journal of the Indiana Writers Center, accepting submissions from Midwest residents and those with significant ties to the Midwest.