Evenings call for fear; even the sun runs away. The phone line flattens like the body does in death. Ears burn from the silence. She’ll enjoy this. Dimension no longer breathes out the womb or out the tongue. He’s here. 4:03AM––only the microwave clock is lit. I’m beaten. Beating. Alive. Vulnerability is the body’s largest organ. Skin is not difficult to rip. Ringtone still resonating in eardrums. She’ll enjoy this. Predator waits for prey. Once a human body.
Sabine Obagi is a bubble tea, golden retriever, and rainy-day enthusiast. She is also a first-year at Boston University who likes to write, read, and procrastinate. Her poems have (not yet) been published in a multitude of journals.