erasure

Shelby dale deweese

 

Your body

of dimples;

he calls them his

thumbprints.

Each one burns.

 

He tells you he loves your

earlobes, the way your

eyes seem to change color

when you’re thinking. You

let him.


You’re careful—

you tuck

your underthings

into hidden

drawers, collect

your hair

from the brush

you share, let him

erase you.

 


Shelby Dale DeWeese grew up on a farm in the southeast United States, but currently lives and writes in California. She is an MFA candidate at the University of San Francisco, a poetry reader for Switchback and Teen Ink, and an educational programs intern at 826 Valencia. Her work has appeared in such publications as Quaint MagazineMarathon Literary Review, and The Knicknackery. Pay her a visit at shelbydaledeweese.com.