Battle Ground

by Leila Gherabli

Today I spent five hours trying

to move

Begged the day to wait then chased it away

Tomorrow I will

Venture down to the strand

Let the wind snatch my breath

Shock me back

to myself

The grey dog is at it again

Rubbing up against the window pane

On my way home I picture spiriting

hikes, ginseng tea and books

Sliding into clean sheets, muscles

Achy-warm from use

Soft skin, teeth smooth, monastic

Mornings of coffee and stretch

Earthy dahl after braving the seas

Sourdough after weaving through trees,

Instead I lay here and get fat

Hips grind for a morsel of pleasure

Nail beds blood-caked groomers

My edges bloom under phantom pressure Like

egg sandwich filling, I am mushing, spilling The

grey dog is at it again

Rubbing up against the window pane

I catch dawn and settle in

Sip nettle tea on the grass in

Bare feet

Spectral blue promise nears - then,

Twelve bares its teeth and I scurry upstairs

As the ordinary thoughts flood back in My

stuckness a concrete block I am

The woman in the mattress again

Foamed edges and smelling of sin

Tomorrow I will