Poshmark

How nearly can I

inhabit someone

else’s body? I don’t

have any money.

Prostrate, scrolling

through other people’s

clothes, I’m wearing

the tearable pink dress

I met you in. It came

taped up in a box

that smelled like house

and once held water filters.

These truncated mannequins

I imagine angels appear as—

headless torsos, voices

emanating from necks—

scare me like you did.

Still I let divine will

fill me like a windsock,

commencing a delirious

motion. Now my love is a line

pulled by no current.

Thanks for your purchase!

wrote the woman in Queens

on scalloped cardstock.

Pulling her dress over

my head, light sieved

through sheer silk

and I saw the threads

binding my delight.

Erin Marie Lynch