no one can really say because no one really saw
the girl crying from a distance like
between two trees or maybe big bushes or an overgrown hedge
plucked from the light source of her mother’s belly
before time had begun ticking for her

no one can really say because no one really heard
the girl screaming from behind her pillow
because the pillow was made of wood and nails
looks less like a bed than a coffin where
she once spent more than a few decades

no one really saw because no one really felt
the skin of such a slippery little thing
they could say words like snails or jelly or vagina
but didn’t satisfy her need to be called
the drowned pile of nyssa leaves from under her mother’s womb

—jacklyn janeksela

11064519_10204865328926852_604298934_ojacklyn janeksela can be found @ felled limbsOddball MagazineThe Nervous BreakdownBerfroisBarrelhouseUut PoetryPig LatinThought CatalogLuna Magazine, & Talking Book.  forthcoming in WhiskeyPaper,  Reality Hands, Transition, Word For/Word, & DumDum Magazine.  she is in a post-punk band called the velblouds. her baby @ femalefilet.  more art @ artmugre & a clip.  she is an energy.