The Abductee Tries to Move Forward

Kate Gaskin


Drawing: From the series 26.2034° N, 98.2300° WVincent Valdez,, Instagram: vvaldez77

The Abductee Tries to Move Forward
Kate Gaskin

I was cold, held under
by the back of my neck
in snow that crusted the field

and made of the dirt
a clean white plate. I was
disembodied, un-bodied,

my body left to hang
on a hook as if I’d only
just undressed, perhaps

to bathe, relax, my bones
clinking beneath me like wind
chimes in a storm. I have tried

to move forward, have bolted
as if a deer into the cracked
spine of dawn, have watched

myself go dark, fanned
my hair around my scars,
dressed myself in the best

of all my bodies, so many
I had to choose from them
tangled like vines in a ditch.

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Kate Gaskin's poems have appeared in Cimarron Review, Drunken Boat, Nashville Review, Guernica, Bellevue Literary Review, Radar Poetry, Raleigh Review, and Sugar House Review among others. She grew up in Alabama and now lives in Colorado Springs with her husband and son.