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.
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
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.
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