By Mahailey Oliver
Pisces 𖤓 | Capricorn ⏾ | Pisces ↑

My first name’s from my great grandma,
my middle name’s from my mom,
my last name’s from my dad
Ain’t a single part
of me that’s mine.
I recline into the cattails
and switchgrass. Cracked knuckles
feel the burn of the sun,
slick sweat sliding from clammy palms
to ruddy earth underneath.
Whose knuckles are these?
Not mine, nor these knees,
nor this sundress shifting
in the breeze
nor these eyes praying up
towards the trees. Ain’t a thing
in this world that belongs to me.
Mahailey Oliver holds an MA in English from Stephen F. Austin State University in Nacogdoches, Texas. She teaches English at both a college and a high school in Texas. When she is not reading and writing, she enjoys camping, hammocking, and stargazing with her husband. Her work has recently appeared in The Little Things Literary Magazine, The Orange Rose Literary Magazine, and Blue Daisies Journal. To read more of her work, peruse her author website: https://sites.google.com/view/mahaileyoliver
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