The things we say are dust – a passive bother easily dealt with. Think a damp rag, think a vacuum. Unless you’re off-world, say on the moon where it never really settles, where it clings with static charge, where the lack of erosion leaves all edges sharp enough to tear up a space suit, a throat and lungs. Our speech shiny and slick. Volcanic glass.
Annette C. Boehm 🔈
when you say something in the water, i think of a body face down – no porcelain skin, no crown of flowers: an honest mistake to make.
to make an honest mistake, you have to be earnest, innocent, frank. head down, the porcelain in pieces, you must say something.
say something about the water, something like i like what you’ve done to the place. what have they done to the place? what have you done to the body?
About the Author
Annette C. Boehm (she / her) is the author of The Apidictor Tapes (April 2022) and The Knowledge Weapon. A queer, disabled writer from Germany, she serves as a poetry reader for Memorious and has also authored two intertextual chapbooks available from Dancing Girl Press. Find her online at annettecboehm.wordpress.com.