All of this feeling, all
of this wistful, all
these memories

in the shape of phantoms,
the snakeskin
of your arms around me?

This nomadic heart
which always finds its way
back to you?

The soft underbelly
of rage, which was always
secretly

an armful of sorrow?
A shrapnel of grief? A mouth
like an open wound?

Your name engraved
on a hatchet? Your fingerprints,
but all I could think about

were your hands,
your beautiful hands,
how they hurt me,

what am I supposed to do
with all of this hurt?
The nomenclature

of the hatchet
caked in dirt and recovered
over and over?

I’ll bury it. I’ll bury it again.

Madeira Miller is a writer and poet who holds a B.S. in creative writing from Missouri State University. Her work has been published in various anthologies, magazines, and literary journals, including ANGLES Literary Magazine, Arkana Literary Magazine, and Barely South Review. She can be found online at www.instagram.com/madeiramiller.