I fill myself on summer strawberries,
hoard sea shells and glass marbles
that crowd each other’s light, but I want more
words of affection, another stroke
of my husband’s fingers through my hair,
entwined limbs that never let go.
My dresser drawer stuffed with socks
so my feet won’t meet the cold floor,
and the blood in my heart’s pocket stays warm.
I ask a friend whose love I denied
to forgive me for believing it wasn’t enough.
I used to tell myself the empty room
in my house was reserved for someone
in need, but really what it holds
is the overflow of want.
I still think about the shop window
and the green silk dress I have no occasion to wear:
the imagined life of a dancer with enviable grace,
who rises above the marrow of earthly desire
as if her bones were hollow flutes,
her reflection in the picture window,
light pouring in, eternity’s promise.
–
Jennifer Markell’s first poetry collection, Samsara (Turning Point, 2014) was named a “Must Read” in 2015 by the Massachusetts Book Awards. In 2021, Main Street Rag published Singing at High Altitude. Her work has been included in The Bitter Oleander, Consequence, Diode, and RHINO, among other publications.