Mariana Gioffre

leda

my life is a list of feathers leading to my tailbone
i see their imprints in the sand, delicate 

as the rake of a painted fingernail on
weathered skin, the contours of my body 

spelling out my name in imprints for you—
come closer, the divots of my elbow and hip reach out 

for the words that muddle in my mouth and
mix with the same river water that told me 

i was a good girl and to lean into the touch of lightning
splaying its palms over water’s gentle surface 

and the river isn’t a river but
i swam in your words anyway and forgot 

the taste of ash, snow-colored in your beard
and i swirled around the taste of cigarette smoke on my tongue— 

white chalk falling into my throat and hardening—
o daughters of discord o sorry body that was too soft

o skin o strong arms o parting thighs
o delusion that i would wear the costume-wings 

and take flight and feel cool air again
and shiver with space for no more 

reflection and i am exhausted
from reliving it

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Mariana Gioffre is a student at Vanderbilt University studying Psychology and Creative Writing. Her past publications include Vanderbilt Review and American Highschool Poets. Currently, her poetry explores the blurry in-between of the past and present and how emotions influence nostalgia.