By Louise Robertson

                 Sometimes I,   
                            I mean you,
                I mean I,
           like an advil stuck
in a pocket of my/your throat

           and I/you wonder if I,
                       I mean you,
           I mean I,

                       am dissolving there—
                                   easing the ligaments,
                       except the body

isn’t eased, nor ligaments
             hushed and I can still feel you,
I mean me,

                                    I mean you
                       there in the neck
                                   waiting, in fact,

hard as a choke.

Louise Robertson counts among her favorite publications and honors several jars of homemade pickles she received for running a workshop. Her poetry has appeared in or is forthcoming at Crack the SpineSWWIMAfter the Pause, and other journals. It’s also been nominated three times for the Best of the Net and once for a Pushcart. She also serves as the marketing director, Zoom, and web person for the Writers’ Block Poetry Night in Columbus, OH.

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