laying open

TR Brady

The only way to implicate myself is to admit
the pale blue of the room. The curtains
pulled back. I remove my shirt, my binder,
and hope a neighbor sees my shape.
I google the flight patterns of seagulls
after seeing what I think to be seagulls
flying toward the Iowa River. I think
I might be dying every time I get back
on Zoloft. Dye my hair gray
in preparation. I become my idea
of a woman at twenty two. My favorite
pastime, getting gussied and singing
Meredith Brooks’ Bitch at karaoke and
waxing my eyebrows for the cathartic
experience. My hormones eager
for communion. I hold my breasts
and will them do something interesting,
but their magic, gone. A second formation
of gulls, northbound. My search yields little
information. They like to float on an updraft
for as long as possible to conserve
energy. What stilted prayer.

TR Brady is a Teaching/Writing Fellow at the Iowa Writers’ Workshop. Her work has appeared or is forthcoming in Copper Nickel, Denver Quarterly, Foundry, The Arkansas International, and Bennington Review.