I have been
the sigh that plants hands firmly
on either side of the mouth and bursts out
like shattering ice, shards in the chest,
upon reaching home.
one who bargains with the remote’s blinking
battery light, promises things—a Clorox sponge bath,
name brand batteries—to keep from moving
to change the channel.
the arthritic finger on a gnarled hand, frozen
to trail after each passerby like a magnet
drags North or like heads turn when men hold hands.
When the water rises, fire ants hitch together,
eggs gathered between them—they will float
for weeks, bobbing like Atlantis
before it angered the gods.
Maybe the same gravel road that led away
will lead us home. Maybe the sea
won’t swallow us this time.
~ Katelyn Roth
Katelyn Roth graduated from Pittsburg State University with degrees in Creative Writing and Psychology. She has been previously published in the campus literary magazine Cow Creek Review. Currently, she resides in Pittsburg with her husband and dog, working at an insurance office while on hiatus from her Masters in Creative Writing.