Verse by @rae.voss

i am practicing being the kind of quiet you can stand we made a home out of almost the field went gold then went to sleep nothing holy ever asked for my name

the tape hissed where your voice should be my mother taught me how to fold a grudge i traded my quiet for a louder kind of quiet i keep the receipts of everything i felt

you never asked and i never stopped answering the dog still waits by the door at six i buried the argument in the yard i speak to the version of you that listens

my mother taught me how to fold a grudge the map was wrong but the walking was right summer left its fingerprints on the glass my hands still know your kitchen

i am learning the names of ordinary things again the birds do not know we broke up i put the whole year in one suitcase the lemon tree outlived the marriage

the river takes what it is offered i keep the receipts of everything i felt