Last Night

The mirror is dirty

with fingerprints,

the spot where I can trace

the scars

just above where you

breathe.

 

Clips of my garter

hold on to my stockings

like a child on a crowded street

stays with their mother.

 

I notice the little things.

 

The gap in my teeth

chipped blue nail polish

the crook of hair between

each covered leg,

the spot that I forgot to shave

 

your smile

over my shoulder

through the half-opened

door to your

living room

slash bedroom,

the smell of your cologne

I can taste the ocean

in my mouth tonight.

 

–Maura Lee Bee

Maura is a queer writer based out of New York City. Her work has been published in the How We See It, More Views of Our World book series, as well as Utopia Parkway, and All in Your Head. Her work has received awards such as the David B. Feinberg Fellowship. She even met Neil gaiman once outside of a library. When she isn’t busy dismantling an otherwise oppressive system, she enjoys receiving coffee in an IV, baking pies, drinking gin, and meeting new dogs. You can also find her work on Medium and Twitter.

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