Planted

By Bryanna Licciardi

Do you think whoever was here 

in this body 

before me 

hasn’t left all the way? 

I find remnants of her 

scratching at the inside corners  

of my mouth 

sometimes pulling the lips apart 

until my grin  

is too big. 

Despite my dread, 

I’m drawn to her, to exploring  

alien fragments tucked  

inside my muscle memories.  

Sometimes my fingers  

start a piano concerto in the air 

before they remember 

I have no talent,  

and sometimes I wake to  

blood in my mouth, unprovoked 

teeth sunk into tongue. 

I’ve decided it’s a gift, 

a relief to learn I am nothing.  

A flower, planted inside  

the deathbed of other flowers.  

No one else seems  

to be catching on that  

the ground will collect  

what it wants from us. 

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Bryanna Licciardi is a writer, educator, and author of the poetry collection Fish Love and the chapbook Skin Splitting. A Pushcart Prize nominee, her multi genre work has appeared in numerous literary journals. Find more about her at www.bryannalicciardi.com, on Instagram @bryanna.poet and Facebook @BryannaNichole

Photo Credit: Michelle Morrison Meredith