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Talking Head

I sing in the shower & sometimes
Your voice trails behind mine
In echoing stains on the bathroom tile
As I crunch into my body
Folding my bones into Your embrace

The birds scream Your name every morning
As You scrape through the clouds
Forgetting the soft remnants of the evening:
I trace Your name in my window
But my fingers turn crimson-purple

I bleed into the memory of Your
Face; Your trapezoid eyes,
The dent You left by my bones, the
Hill of my thighs
The way Your teeth used to
Crookedly dance with each other
While You slept

You’re gone now but my veins
Stick out like electric pulses weaved
In & out of living
My fingers tingle like the TV static
As my breath stales
My lips dried & I lost the voice
That used to call out to You

About the Author
Rina Shamilov lives in Brooklyn, New York, and is an English Literature student at Yeshiva University. She is a second-place winner of the Yedid Nefesh (Powered by Yavneh)’s anonymously judged prose/poetry contest.
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