Dock | Lily Andrews

1 min read

You misunderstand me, mother. 

You, who do not soften into me. 

I’ve always wanted to say that to you. 

Now that I have, I must remark on lesser 

things: our pinky nail grows straight and 

long and white. Our hands sun-spot 

and etch. Our faces seize and sink 

a little even as we grow plump. We were 

always plump. I, eight years old, standing at the edge 

of the dock holding onto you like a

stiff barbie holds onto another 

barbie, whoever is next to her. Why do 

you play pretend? Why won’t you soften into

me? All of your hard bones creaking as 

you finally relax, finally allow them to

bear your weight.

Lily is a creative writer from Minneapolis, Minnesota. She has an MFA in Writing from Sarah Lawrence College. Her work has been published in Rio Grande Review (BLACKOUT Spring 2021) and Ignatian Literary Magazine (Fall 2022) and is forthcoming in Ghost City Review. She lives in NYC, where she studies to be a secondary English teacher.