room like the inside of a lightbulb gone
dark. a daughter
already not a daughter
places her hand on a chest
forever burning, quickly now.
those curtains taming light. bed beneath
a quilt beneath
a father, draped in navy wool.
summer so hot it cracked in your mouth.
room in strict geometry:
heaving with every breath, easy patterns
slipping to ribbed floorboard–
hall constricting like
a throat. she lowers herself to a goodbye
below breath. i begin forgetting
even as light leaves those corners.
later, he wakes again and again
calling out to blurred edges, asking
if we have left, if he is staying
Elena Ferrari is a junior at Milton Academy and lives in Cambridge, Massachusetts. Her poetry has been recognized regionally and nationally by the Scholastic Art and Writing Awards and is published or forthcoming in Cathartic Youth Literary Magazine, Magus Mabus, and The WEIGHT Journal. When not reading or writing copious amounts of poetry, she can be found annoying her cat and drawing force diagrams.