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Rachel Milligan

Rachel Milligan is a graduate of the University of Iowa Writers' Workshop, and a 2014-15 recipient of a Pflughaupt Fellowship in Creative Writing. She was also a 2013 US Department of State Critical Language Scholar in Chinese. Her work has appeared or is forthcoming in Similar:Peaks::, Sonora Review, smoking glue gun, Foothill: a journal of poetry, Lyre Lyre, and elsewhere.

Can I Tell You About The Time I Had Galactorrhea?

Is The Silhouette You Traced Of My Body Still On Your Dining Room Table?

 
 
 

Can I Tell You About The Time I Had Galactorrhea


Can I Tell You About The Time I Had Galactorrhea


Can I Tell You About The Time I Had Galactorrhea?


In another life, this was all so much more
solid. In another, I woke up to freshly fallen

snow and hated it. In another, I ate licorice. In
another, I ate tea stains, off-center and oddly-

shaped. In another, I ate little dreams. In another,
I was a skin-covered sour sponge. In another, I

charted blood. In another, I fed thirsty toads and
crows. In another, I felt your breath on my neck.

In another, I sucked sap from my own limbs. In
another, I carried myself softly like soap bubbles.

In another, I hummed forsythia. In another, clouds
of wasps prepared waxy nests for my armpits. In

another, ice crystal clavicles. In another, there was
a thumb inside my skull, there was a bad year for

seasons. Another skin fits inside another urn.
Another. Pass around the glass. Watch me burn.

 
 

Is The Silhouette You Traced Of My Body Still On Your Dining Room Table


Is The Silhouette You Traced Of My Body Still On Your Dining Room Table


Is The Silhouette You Traced Of My Body Still On Your Dining Room Table?


We met staring down
into the same well

filled with asian watermeal
I noticed his eyes caught too long

on my lips. I have leaned over
the plaid side of a plaid couch

Alone in a room with orange webworms
he left me half an apple & instructions: let

your covered-in-mascara-hands
fall limp when no one's

watching them
I walk home

fall toward the edge
of my ability to carry

He makes me
cloudy like broth

The fishbone steers toward
catches the stork