terminal ii
How quiet a mouse must be underfoot
as it feeds on human destruction.
This house changes with the seasons,
its long steps shaped like a mailbox
& languishes in the snowmelt,
freezing and refreezing as the days
grow longer and nights lengthen
as a ruler gathering grammar dust.
I find the envelope sitting in the mailbox,
waiting for its postmaster, but it’s been
years since anyone has passed by.
The snow is trodden by many afeet,
but it doesn’t matter that my hands
are like ice, frozen in midair and un-
formed by ASL words that vibrate in
our hidden reflexes. All we are able
to consume on lonely nights like these
are ashes disguised by our daring at-
tempts at feeding the empty gnawing
sensation cratering like a hole through
our esophagi.
Christina Borgoyn
Lives in the Baltimore area. Owns 1 square foot of Hawaii 2, a private, uninhabited island in Maine, thanks to Cards Against Humanity. Been writing since age 7, poetry since 11. Has written over 20,000 poems. Graduated from UMUC in 2012 with a BA in English Literature. Participates in NaNoWriMo and NaPoMo. Active member of AllPoetry, where they are known as Amaranthine Lover. Self-published November Poems, available on Amazon. Administrative Specialist II for MDE by day, demi-goddess by night.
