Us, in the Morning
The mattress tenses under muscles of the un-sleepy
your mouth is a slow lip of fire
your mouth yawns over hip bone
& stops to bite me bare
I have a theory about your hands
how the print, the purple grip
permeates through skin onto
guts & organs & bones
Maybe
it’s not a theory at all
because I can feel it:
you turn me into a hummingbird—
into a hive
Last Words
I want a white-wicker desk
with a drawer big enough
for my body. I want to
know firsthand what the dirt
grows from me.
Do not dress me
in church-ruffles or lace. Wrap me
in honeysuckle vines & sow
arils into my hair.
Let me have my paper—
plant pens above me
and when I pull them under
keep the holes clean. Watch
me turn vein-blue in the sunlight. Watch
me unclench my fists.
Adrian Sanders is a recent creative writing graduate of Western Kentucky University and social media intern for The Field Office. Her work has appeared in Jelly Bucket, Red Mud Review, Indiana Review Online as well as other journals.