Something penetrated his sleep
And we stood over him
Bloodletting our toes on glass
Until she started picking up pieces
Trying to fit them in the frame
So the cold would stay out

He was a gaping mouth
Attempting to consume a new reality
While crying into a mildewing seat cushion
Until he strung himself up
To absolve his sins

Wet rope tight on a loose chandelier

I watched her with her jig-saw
Reconstructing the memory of a window
He'd blamed me for breaking while he slept
So he could be the victim of something

JILLIAN ROCHELLE ETHERIDGE is a first-year graduate student of Creative Writing with an emphasis in fiction. She has a BFA in acting from USM, where she showcased many of her own plays. Jillian's hobbies include writing, theatre and psychoanalysis.