Shannon Ryan

Scraps

Hot carrion splits the asphalt, spreads
open, pinned. The heat leaves
fingerprints pressed into the arch 

of my spine. I want to be hand-
held, small in your palm, ready
to unfurl, tentative and prone. 

I pick scabs over and over knowing
they’ll always bleed. My shadow 

curls into every hollow, caught
in the motion sensors. Phantoms slink
in the mirrors, the corners of eyes, the pall cast by bodies lingering

in the stark sun. There are still silences that settle
in the stretch of my skin, gazes that grip
the outline of my body, blurring in the rush of burning rubber.

________________________________________________________________________________________

Shannon Ryan is studying visual art and creative writing at Salisbury University. She is the managing editor of The SCARAB. Her poetry is forthcoming in Asterism.