Shannon Cuthbert is a writer and artist living in Brooklyn. Her poems have appeared in Gingerbread House, Chronogram, and Enchanted Conversation, among others, and are forthcoming in The Writers’ Café Magazine, Call Me [Brackets], Liquid Imagination, and The Orchards Poetry Journal.



Shannon Cuthbert

turnpike


i know the feeling of exhaling into a void bones tight blood thick an animal skinned and swallowing backward i too have stopped my car in rain sat beneath streetlights big as planets chest compressed with some kind of knowledge if only the warehouses weren’t so empty the windows with gouged eyes and teeth black hole holds me in its grasp i too have dared the voices of ancestral women that fondle the radio dials clouding my brain to dispel the womb we’ve created with memory with stories long told and always half empty to emerge from their photos come with knives with nails with hooks down the hall to my bed dress me like a doll and put me to sleep smelling of things better left unsaid


This poem came to me as a series of images, following thoughts about the long thread of ancestors that connect each of us to our current self. I coupled that with thoughts of the empty towns I’ve driven through that those ancestors once occupied. What stories might they tell about what makes us who we are, with darkness as a natural part of that tale?



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