Written by Allison Riechman-Bennett
Art by Allison Riechman-Bennett

I don’t know if you’ll ever be what I can’t find, but your poem spilled out in my recliner;
it held babish and sea foam,
the smell hooked my nose.
But I’ve known you far too long to humble me.

We wear our scars a bit flatter than those who can afford to dote on them;
cruel disappointment and an aching change.
It is in my blood letting that I recognize your clotless leech.