First: that I hate a beautiful turn
of phrase, those elegances
that offer no purchase. When I love,
I kiss. Where you go, I confess
I will follow.
Second: that I believe; although
Third: that sometimes I fear my belief
in choice is only a convenient fantasy.
Fourth: in the dentist’s chair, that I was glad
you could not see me
with a long syringe
buried in my jaw.
Fifth: that I, without you, I
had such a good week, and so
modest, long strips of light
draped over blonde butcher-block wood,
stainless steel press and gallon glass
jars gleaming.
Sixth: that I did not hold
your hand in urgent care, and after that,
Seventh: that it is a shock, to discover
that we might choose
to part ways
after all.
Morgan Hamill is a disabled poet and a graduate student in English Literature at Penn State, where she has been awarded a McCourtney Family Distinguished Graduate Fellowship. In 2019, she was a poetry semi-finalist in Nimrod's Francine Ringold Awards for Emerging Writers. Her poems have appeared or are forthcoming in Cimarron Review, Copper Nickel, and The Southern Review.