You, Drifter

The fade—where I reached for you without knowing what my hand sought. Where did my body keep its knowledge of you? Drifter that you were, you must have carried it to me. All my life, plagued by restlessness, I had been merely waiting. You arrived to catch the world around me though it was you who had brought it down —but it matters not. You have found me out of dream; there is work to be made of our bodies.


Author's bio: Madison Leigh East is a writer and researcher from the plains of central Oklahoma. Her work seeks to experiment with form and lyric through works of creative nonfiction and poetry. When she isn’t writing, she works with children and their families as a mental health professional.

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