Amy Williams

Lot’s Daughter on the Couch with Her Therapist

To feel the slick of moss on cave stone          to clench
a fist    behold moonmilk, the way it tumors   I got
by        got good at breathing  under
water    popping corks             he’d say girl,
you better say your prayers
girl,     you better pour that wine.

Outside, a desert. Outside, ashes
swirling like starlings in some frightening helix.
Meanwhile, he spoke of being lonely in Sumer.
He spoke
of her sins.
Didn't    I  want to be    good?

You're  the      chosen      one
honor              thy                   father
you stupid ugly            cunt.
Meanwhile,
his                   thick
fingers
meanwhile
my spindly
knees
I was counting   stones            getting
by
knowing
cave stones  moonmilk  the slick
of moss
you’ll say

it wasn’t my
fault    you’ll
say I wasn’t
on my knees
asking to be filled

cold mouth & the wine on my tongue
cold wet mouth & the air was tasting like salt.

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Amy Williams is an educator and writer based in New Delhi. Her poems have appeared in Redivider, Contrary Magazine and Sweet Tree Review. She was a participant in the 2021 Kenyon Review Writers Workshop for poetry and is working on her first chapbook.