A folio of other,
owned,
used up gas nozzle
of girl/woman.
Underpass bedroom
for the drought version of you,
in you,
childhood brokered
for blankets.
Body etched with age
and purpose.
Your age.
Others’ purpose.
Teeth break skin.
Doors latched open
by the hands before.
Loaned parachute,
borrowed dress,
cooked fish.
Your body goes back to you now.
Your spleen. Your clavicle.
Your ankle and hair.
Tomorrow
you will paint your fingernails gold.
You will rub your calves with oil.
Hibiscus
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About the Author
Christy Prahl
Christy Prahl is an Illinois Arts Council grant recipient and the author of the poetry collections We Are Reckless (Cornerstone Press, 2023) and Catalog of Labors (Unsolicited Press, forthcoming 2026). A Best of the Net and three-time Pushcart Prize nominee, her work has been featured in Poetry Daily as well as many journals, including CALYX, Sugar House Review, the Penn Review, Salt Hill Journal, Tar River Poetry, and others. She splits her time between Chicago and rural Michigan.
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