The smell of New York City Morning
on her breath and the smile
of an afternoon in Houston in her eyes:
It’s been a year and a half now
she’s almost forgotten
how to create herself through stories,
she’s almost forgotten how to leave.
She skims the news vigorously, wishing
peace to her and hers. She cleans her hands
with near frozen water but it scolds. She wants
to be content. She hopes that heaven
isn’t a whole five hundred more in rent.
She counts the days under her breath,
guesstimating a new end point each morning.
(Seattle Winter in her soul, outpouring)
Gabija Kertenyte writes poems and creative nonfiction. In her free time, she likes to psychoanalyze herself and work on healing. She’s currently working on an oral history project.