Red Skies at Morn
What if conversations on compression socks are all we have now? What if my cloudburst eyes and inclement guilt are the only things I’m left with when I hang
up the phone? I’m scared there will only be the memory of a therapist’s office, recalling the damp helplessness of growing up. Learning to pivot
from outpost to outrage. Realizing it was you I was angry with all along. On a clear day, you can see the bull shit.
With your legs weeping water, we both know you'll never see the ocean again. Why are we pretending there are windows to view the rough skies? Only the hard mud
of memory remains, and already I have forgotten the pink of childhood. From here on out, there will only be talks of your health and the weather.
Lannie Stabile (she/her), a queer Detroiter, often says while some write like a turtleneck sweater, she writes like a Hawaiian shirt. A finalist for the 2019/2020 Glass Chapbook Series and semifinalist for the Button Poetry 2018 Chapbook Contest, she is usually working on new chapbook ideas, or, when desperate, on her neglected YA novel. Works are published/forthcoming in Pidgeonholes, Glass Poetry, 8 Poems, Okay Donkey, Honey & Lime, and more. Lannie currently holds the position of Managing Editor at Barren Magazine and is a member of the MMPR Collective. She was thrice nominated for Best of the Net 2019. Twitter handle: @LannieStabile