Emily Paige Wilson is the author of the chapbook I'll Build Us a Home (Finishing Line Press, 2018). Her poetry has been nominated for Best New Poets, Best of the Net, and the Pushcart Prize. Her work can be found in The Adroit Journal, Hayden’s Ferry Review, PANK, and Thrush, among others. She lives in Wilmington, NC, where she received her MFA from UNCW.




Previously in Glass: A Journal of Poetry: Etymology of a Body Love Poem for a Dry Spell


Emily Paige Wilson

Hypochondria, Least Powerful of the Greek Gods, and Her Estranged Half-Brother Sisyphus

She sometimes gets postcards from him when he's not rolling that stone. I've always held deep and bitter resentment towards you is as far as she reads. She weeps for him and then wonders about the weeping — how it's a release for her and her alone. She's heard that the stone is engulfed in the flames of its own momentum as it falls, kinetic energy making it an ember. His palms now pads of pus, charred skin that will blister, burst. He knows he will never again touch anything soft. She thinks of the pansies that will mourn this loss, their purple cheeks tear-streaked. She can barely bring herself to say his name anymore — tries but finds her tongue stuttering a thesaurus of similar sounds instead: susurrus, synergy, silence. She'd ask to visit him if he wouldn't say no. Hypochondria knows he's never taken her symptoms seriously, the panic she's attracted, aches born less in the bones than the brain. She wishes she could see him, hug the new muscles of his body like he was a bank and they could have a civil exchange of all they've cost each other. Look, he would say, I hold my pain in a way others can believe. See how neatly it fits in my hands. So visible and clean.



Glass: A Journal of Poetry is published monthly by Glass Poetry Press.
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