Issue 1 Poetry | The Diamond Line

“Spirit Box” Michayla Ashley

You really are my daughter, says my mom. Her hand//slick with honey and coated with swan feathers

flirty and asymmetrical//the houses that cling to each other//like a blue and yellow chain

The beating of my heart reminds me I am alive//a steady beat, trapped in a bone cage

Crack my skull and from my brain sprouts lilies//white ones, like those at my mother’s wedding, pristine but stained with bits of myself

At the tree line through the field of soy//off from the highway,//deer gather in the safety of the dark;

Fold the letter in half//To make the body.//Each side must be bent opposite the other.