Mother
You were robed, you were
sinking
when I found you on the porch
soft body spilling, spine pressed
against the leg of a weatherproof chair.
Ice cubes dissolving in an empty glass.
You’d done away with language,
unlit cigarette limp
in your lazy mouth,
and your eyes weren’t closed,
and you weren’t ashamed.
M. Johnsen has an M.A. in English from the Bread Loaf School of English at Middlebury College. She has also attended The Kenyon Review Writers Workshop. Her work has been published or is forthcoming in Anti-Heroin Chic, Calamus Journal, SiDEKiCK, The Birds We Piled Loosely, Virga Magazine and Mortar Magazine.
