Sensibility – Vanessa Bojorn

1.

Dear brother I crawl

into bed and think of you behind the bannister

of when I found the imprint of your shoe in the mud

and I watched you fold the arms of a dead squirrel

in a very polite way before you buried it in the yard.

Young boys are just like this. I am told not to expect

anything less of you.

It’s so hard living around other people.

2.   

On my lunch break the smell of the Puerto Rican deli next-door

wafts in through the window and out of the corner

of my eye, a young man chews licorice his throat bobbing

his Adam’s apple soft and fragile like a tumor wrapped in silk I want to

tell him, “We don’t have to know each other it’s better this way,”

I take a picture of Mariano Park.

3.

I dream my mouth is a meat grinder.

While you were out “having blasts” I counted each stretch-mark

on my thigh and wondered how they got there. I am told

young girls are just like this.

In my sleep, I bone the dreamer.

Vanessa Bojorn is a 21 year old Poetry student in Chicago. In her spare time, she likes to look at the moon, eat fruit, kiss, and daydream about being a Sailor Scout. Besides being printed in her own self-published zines that are currently floating all around the city, her work has also been published in The Untitled Mag, N/A Literary Magazine, Columbia Poetry Review and The Corazonland Review. Her favorite color is green, her favorite vegetable is the cucumber and her favorite word is bliss. She wants to be a jazz singer when she grows up. She also wants a small house with a big garden and lots of windows. You can follow her on tumblr at heavenly-femme.

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