1 poem

Maryka Gillis

To monument Creek

Mid-run, after eating disorder support group 

Funny it’s now you bloom such thick green,
leaves swell on the banks of your polluted water.
After two years, so many passes along these banks,
you’re all green, and my sweaty legs, salmon red.
I do not remember rain like this spring, only skin
and fur plastered to bone, some old death indecent
across red dirt. For two years I wanted only to leave.
It took me two years to see your green, your weight,
chlorophyll filling out your form. For two years
I messied the sex you mastered when evolution split.
But look—I learned bowel regulation, proper hydration,
and how to grow herbs in a box by the sink.
My bleeding returned to full red before I saw
your brown water, gray water, could grow such green.