Alone as I am, the spirits waft in. The invisible reunion tingles my finger pads. I spread my arms like flying; give me your weight. A tarot spread asks to know you, but I already do. Tell me again, please. The closet door beside me delicately opens herself. Your nothing smells briefly of a morning cigarette. It always cut down my throat, but I am a sword swallower. Made to draw them again and again. Some days, dear one, I’d slit my wrists to find you, but time is bringing me eventually. I still long to be sun drunk. Give me your weight, again and again. Please, tell me.
Sarah Sorensen (she/her), MA, MLIS is a queer writer based in the Metro Detroit area. Sarah’s most recent work can be found in Jet Fuel Review and The Bryant Literary Review. Sometimes she daydreams about rescuing every shelter dog in Metro Detroit, but she just has one tiny fireball of barks. Her work is forthcoming from Soundings East, stay tuned!