Despite all the days spent lifting my feet
above the surface of here
glue has made its way under the skin
swelling tissue
pooling around ankle bones
creeping up legs
weighing my body
down.
And the crow calls from its tree home in the otherworld
calls into the grey day
trying to help.

comeoncomeoncomeon!

It’s only a sliding screen door holding me back.
A thin veil of wire
and all the legendary variegated softly lit greenery
and maze of red stems. Like veins.
Fibres of my cotton nightgown have grown
overnight, are tangled
to the dark stale air under the bed.
My hair has a tight hold on my pillow.
I am nailed to a wet and cool end to June.
The wettest in recorded history.
The crow has gone quiet;
it watches from outside my apathy, waiting.

Maureen Donatelli lives in Abbotsford, BC where she received her BA in English from The University of the Fraser Valley many, many moons ago. Besides all things poetic, Maureen loves being with her kids, photography, and sleeping. Her work has appeared in several online publications including Cirque, Connotation Press, Yes Poetry, vox poetica, OVS, and Willows Wept Review.