J.B. Lawrence
Scraping burned toast and trying to unsay the last thing I said, to spoon the marmalade back into the jar. To be unmade, dissolution of sugar and orange and heat, molecules unfused, pulling apart like sticky buns or the unmaking of the makings of a human clinging not quite firmly to the inside of the bowl that rests within the absurdity my body has become since you have gone. There would have been a gap in your front teeth the same as generations of women built from northern clay and jolts of lightning, sheared wool to stanch the gash, that cardinal language I have ceased to speak.
#
J.B. Lawrence is the author of two poetry collections: Grayling, winner of the 2015 Perugia Poetry Prize, and One Hundred Steps from Shore (Blue Begonia Press, 2006). Recent work appears in About Place Journal, Day Job Journal, South Florida Poetry Journal, Split Rock Review, and Water~Stone Review. Lawrence lives on a tree-covered peninsula in Washington State.