My name is Chelsea. 22, post-collegiate life. My weaknesses include craft beers, bearded men, and the Oxford comma.

It’s nearly the lazy morning

And I find a new way home

Against the mountain wind.

My skin begs for better cover.

The lock welcomes the key

And whispers “when did you

Become such a night owl?”

The oak bedroom furniture

Feels awkward and alone.

(The dresser gets worried

When the bed is left empty.)

My dress falls to the floor

And finally breathes again.

I slide into dawn in cotton

My arms are climbing roots

Tunneling till my hands bloom.

I welcome the sight of stitches

Instead of arms of porcelain bones.

Northeast, the window meets

The shy profile of daylight’s smile

Coy. Like the day I met you.

I have something you haven’t seen

Hidden. Tucked up my sleeve.