Exposure

here’s a tongue I never really let out
except for icy showers after bad sunburns
skin blistered lip-pink as my mom rubs
aloe vera down my spine my body a flute
made of bones soft stomach melodies
that wrap around me tight as a string bikini
stinging with saltwater every stretch mark
crying for the arms of a faded beach towel
shame a knot caught in my hairbrush
pain a pleasure as I cool myself
skin dripping like raspberry gelato
I lick the spoon until it sparkles



 

Alyx Chandler (she/her) is a writer from the South who received her MFA in poetry at the University of Montana, where she was a Richard Hugo Fellow and taught composition and poetry. Her poetry can be found in the Southern Poetry Anthology, Greensboro Review, SWWIM, Penn Review, Epoch Magazine, and elsewhere at alyxchandler.com.