me, Sophie Boyd-Fliegel

Leland Quarterly | Winter 2021

when i dreamt you nearly drowned me

Sophie Boyd-Fliegel

i tried installing a shower drain in my sternum i texted like 10 surgeons each had some version of

no nastiness will stick down there not just lotions in gummed up hair but ash and crumbs and smells too

the fumes of jealousy will stain like wine and stripe the bones if any bleach in rage hits ammonia in fear youll be done

then theres all the little things belly marbles of contempt ulcers of unread emails tonsil stones of regret

might swallow too-small clothes that slip past the solar plexus where they’ll rot so bad you can’t forgive your parents

youll need more pills one doctor said to block all nightmares at the neck youll want to cast your clavicle in false praise and cement

when i dreamt you nearly drowned me | Sophie Boyd-Fliegel

he sent the scripts and that emoji w/ a zipper for a smile from another just screenshots of gauze 1. stuff down your esophagus 2. call ambulance for side effects

i was recommended apple sauce i was referred to a psychiatrist i bought extensions for my spinal cord but got all tangled in the wires

im stuck i decided ive got water on the tongue so i wrote im out of office packed a stethoscope and drove

until i reached the thin horizon where in a haze of eucalyptus with the metal to my diaphram unanesthetized and mirrorless

i held a needle to my center and my breath so i could listen past years of rust and mold i tore my own drain open