Johanna Aitchison

I Do Want to Hear You

We ate everything
in the air around the car:
wet grass sent postcards
of things no one wanted.
There were trees
where my thighs should've been,
barks raised with sparks;
fires spread across the trees,
which is to say, we exploded
& faked our deaths in the outback.
When you gave me a sheet from the line,
I knew that it was time to give birth.
I could hear the ticking in your trunk
as you slept
            I took photographs of the window
& labelled them “hope”:
I hope that you will borrow my knife
& slice off these feelings.

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