Poetry from Paige Swan

Photo: Devon MacKay

Summer, 1983. Kitty’s.

I slip between the crevices
of his fingertips. Pieces of
me lodged in the hook of him.
A pearl in his palm. Your father’s
sour breath lingers in the curl
of my hair. I find you there on
the back steps, your knees skinned
to the bone, knuckles wrapped by
the end of a butterknife. I try to
find the words to hold you but
I am as empty as they come.

The shards of green scattered
like Mary’s beads across the
kitchen tile, the rubber fish in
the pan on the stove, discarded
bits in the carpet under the dining
table. I leave it there to hold you here.

There is only this.
.

.
Paige Swan is a recent graduate from Western Washington University and currently resides on Whidbey Island, where she spends her time walking along the shoreline, and chasing the sun in her car The Beast. When she is not wandering the world, she can be found in a corner trying to dream up new ones. Her cat Waffles is her best friend.