All I could think about was fucking. The way hipbones look in compressed charcoal. The feel of paper sheets under bodies/ bones and skin. What if humans had been clothed in something less solid? Transparent. Wombs seen through panties. Sometimes I look at people. I wonder if their bones have been broken. Do they look like blinds? Long smooth and tapered. Does it sound like the grinding of gears when they move against each other? And we just can’t hear. I bet during sex they are quiet/ they are sweetly moving like homemade icing. Swallowing. (Can bones feel a swallow?) gentle jawline and a hushing. A swaddling of bodies and bones. Gleaning.
About the Creator
Samantha Williams
Mom of a 2 yo. An art student studying painting (watercolor) and printmaking with a minor in creative writing. I have been writing poetry since I was 13 it is my safe space to tell and figure out how and what I feel.
Enjoyed the story? Support the Creator.
Subscribe for free to receive all their stories in your feed. You could also pledge your support or give them a one-off tip, letting them know you appreciate their work.
Keep reading
More stories from Samantha Williams and writers in Poets and other communities.
Fish
I. I see fish in my thoughts. Their bones spread out. Carved underneath a hollow space of soft tissue. I nestle myself there. Weeks I waited to go fishing with my grandpa. Tackle boxes much like coolers used to carry body parts. Boy from next door running out to us. We sit in the back. My brother, sister and I. Glances from the neighborhood boy pull me as we pull worms back on pointy hooks. His eyes like cockroaches crawling up my legs. He moved near and then away. My brother next to me checks my rod. Grandpa pulls hooks out of fat lipped brown fish. I see the boy from the neighborhood coming. He is almost on top of me hand squeezing up my shirt. A fish moves at my feet willing opens its mouth takes in my worm. It is silver. I watch as eyes begin to turn glossy (like fancy magazines you read but don’t buy) then I am bending down and turning away from the boy. There is a jolt in my hand. A movement of unhooking. And the fish is gone.
By Samantha Williams6 years ago in Poets
Letter to our Queer & Trans Youth
Hey, you. I thought I’d start this letter by telling you a little about myself, just so you know who you’re dealing with. I’m an emotional dad, father to three amazing kids who we met through the foster care system, and whose presence in our lives has really transformed my sense of responsibility to the communities that surround us. The connections we’ve made with one another, with our extended families, and with the communities where we live and look for belonging have catapulted us into this whirlwind of emotional tumult which, while not easy by any stretch of the measure, has also been remarkably healing. I realize ours is really only a one-sided chosen family, since our kids didn’t get to choose to live here, but I’d like to think that they did choose to let us love them, which allowed them to grow to love us. And I think that’s where I want to go with this letter- to a place where you can find belonging and healing- even if the pathway there may be peppered with some emotional tumult.
By F Cade Swanson4 days ago in Pride
Comments
There are no comments for this story
Be the first to respond and start the conversation.