Emylisa Warrick
Cavity
I can’t get
to sleep. My heart
beats quickly and my
breathing rises steady
and falls. I feel the folds
and dips in the bed, lying next
to you. I used to feel
my hipbone, now
insulated by a layer
of flesh, maybe fat. You
are getting skinny. You lay
on your side and I
trace the outline
of hill to valley,
shoulder wing tapering
to hips. Your bones start
to reveal and I don’t know
if you repulse me or
if I repulse myself.
Your hand on my stomach,
belly rises swells
and I don’t know
how to pop this balloon.
As the flame dims, you coo
instead of purr, seeking comfort
instead of satisfaction. Slit me
from navel to breastbone, fill
your hands with entrails
or yellow fat. Squeeze
your way in and push aside
my organs. Make a home
in me, I will
protect you. I
will protect
you.
About Emylisa Warrick
Emylisa Warrick is a Poetry MFA Candidate at the University of South Carolina and the Poetry Editor for Yemassee. She is also a first-year contributor to The MFA Years blog. You can follow her on Instagram at heyemyemy.