There’s a hole in me the shape of your laugh
and when the moon’s a certain size it aches.
The hole is the colour burnt ochre
which can either be dust or dawn.
I’ve stuffed it with lilacs, candy
wrappers, spit, coloured glass,
trinkets that keep me good and full
until someone says your name.
***
Brooke Mackenzie lives in Montreal, Canada, where she illegally writes in English.
***
image: Jade Hawk is a meat popsicle.
Rejection Letters 