Each day I wake with a new fixation.
Today, a mourning ritual.
leaves and sealed with purple wax
dripped from a candle, waning
the origin how
arcane the organs
I will an aria,
my mom to ask about her chemo. My favorite
line this episode: I resent an organ. I resent an organ.
blackberry juice running down
my sternum. I imagine the drippings,
sticky, tacky. My palm full of pulp.
Mammalian. The juice, just short
of milk. Then, the mulch
a mother. Oh mirror,
have my breasts
always been so fibrous?
Though the vines, woven,
form protective wreaths.There are
no blackberry vines in the city—
my substitute, embroidery floss.
fix. The thread
tangles to a bramble. Create
a sprig, but then, a needle pricks.
she says, and her fingernails
peeling up. She says she might
go to the farmers market for fresh fruit.
MAGGIE NIPPS is a poet and playwright from Wisconsin, currently studying at the University of Iowa. Her work appears or is forthcoming in Figure 1, Sporklet, No Contact, Sip Cup, petrichor, and elsewhere. She co-edits the lit mag Afternoon Visitor.