PHANTOM LIMB & HOWL AT THE MOON

Poetry, MADDY SNEEP

PHANTOM LIMB

I am my mother’s daughter 

in the glow of the television.

The doctor warned me away from 

TV before bed, but there’s something about 

the cool touch of blue light 

that thaws me like the

stillness never could.

In the coffee stain 

on the seat of my car— 

I’m her daughter there, too. 

I am not the polished floors of my father, 

though they hold my reflection 

with steady hands. 

He can’t fall asleep 

until the counters are clean.

Then there are the nights 

I find myself laid on one side 

of a full-size mattress, 

sharing bargain white sheets 

like a well-kept secret. 

While he melts into the bed in the silence

its softness, sterling, 

crystalline like him—  I reach for the noise with a phantom limb.

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HOWL AT THE MOON

Something about me still feels like an unfinished painting,

just blank space and pencil outlines in all but one corner.

I don’t think my shoulders sit the way theirs do.

I think about the wasted time, crush it in my hand 

until the palm starts to bleed. I should have been

a child prodigy should have had paper-white teeth. 

I should have howled at the moon. I should have

learned piano should have danced ballet should have burst into this world knowing 

I should have written poems for all the things that hadn’t happened yet

and they should have punched me in the gut

stolen my wallet and ran. I should

have said the right thing should have been 

funny charming aloof kinder softer smaller bigger louder 

so much louder. I should  have been bright red should have 

let the night swallow me like a bitter pill and

I should have burned going down

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Maddy Sneep's work has been featured by Bullshit Lit, Zero Readers, The Passionfruit Review, and others. She lives in Austin, TX with her two cats who inspire her to work less and lounge more. Follow her Instagram @SNEEPSTUDIOS.