No one died when I lost sixty-two walls.
She turned the quartz stone in her hand.
I knew the vinyl house would fall
out of memory. My body gripped for vanilla,
stained carpet, his cedar chest: half woman,
half child, I hemmed the shapes of smells
back into existence. Perfume of rainfall,
aloe vera. In her bath, the purple-stemmed
oxalis that scarred my breast that fall.
—
Oxalis that scarred my breast that fall,
aloe vera. In her bath, purple-stemmed.
Back into existence—perfume of rainfall.
Half child, I hemmed the shapes of smells:
stained carpet, his cedar chest. Half woman,
out of memory. My body gripped for vanilla.
I knew the vinyl house would fall.
She turned the quartz stone in her hand
and no one died. I lost sixty-two walls.
Nicole Stockburger earned an MFA in Creative Writing from The University of North Carolina at Greensboro. Her manuscript was a finalist for the 2018 Center for Book Arts Letterpress Chapbook Poetry program and a finalist for the 2018 Frontier Poetry Digital Chapbook Contest. Finalist for the 2017 Indiana Review Poetry Prize, she received the 2017 Kakalak Poetry Award. Her work appears or is forthcoming in Indiana Review, Raleigh Review, The Southeast Review, The Carolina Quarterly, and Michigan Quarterly Review, among other journals. She lives outside of Mount Airy, NC, where she and her partner co-run York Farm.