My ribs grow more inward by day. Each night,I sleep with you in a small room, in whichwe steadily, by each hour, suck up all the air.
I dreamt tonight of a glass-bottomed boatfloating through a pine forest, needles piercedabove and below my reflection in the lake surface.
We live in a house full of breakable thingsand reassuring porcelain that we never touch.Foxgloves with their toxic mouths open for us. [End Page 106]
LA Johnson is from the San Francisco Bay Area. She is currently an MFA candidate in poetry at Columbia University and an intern at the Poetry Society of America.