By Ihor Pidhainy
“Still?”
Quiet as I swim
in the spin of that one wall
(Are you cold
hungry
dead?)
My head bobbing as
a buoy in the water
watching for the kick
of those legs,
center of warmth
this room
both womb and tomb
of thought and being
Let me escape
this frigid heat,
this loss
of a word:
this blood and bones,
this flesh.
About the Author:
Born in Canada,Ihor Pidhainy lives and works in the American South. His poetry has appeared in Washington Square Review, The Louisville Review, Bloody & Honey and other journals. His chapbook, “Meditations on Fathers and Sons” is available at Bottlecap Press. Follow him https://www.instagram.com/pidhainyihor/ or https://x.com/storiedsongs