by Paisley Conrad

sleep pulls me into
bed gentle as a mothbeat.
 
I confess I have broken
a mug today and the sound did
nothing to reposition my
               invisible spine

—cleaned the mess up I want you to
know—

I will stand until my body 
concludes itself and feet are firm.
used to nurse a teaspoon
of salt to keep my blood
 
sharp. now: I just put
it in my soup. warm like
bed. 

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Paisley Conrad is a writer and researcher based in Tiohtià:ke. Her work considers the intersections between waste, plastics, environmental ethics, and poetics. She enjoys the weather.

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