Penney Knightly


In my dream there was only your legs
attached to your shoes, faded blue and scuffed,
and your tropical musky breath, but I wanted
what I couldn't see, so much implication

I didn't have my face, either
only two rounded breasts pulsing
from a black bra, shedding slowly
I could feel you but there was no hand

as a ceiling fan spun and ticked moving light
I could feel summer from your open window



Penney Knightly is a survivor of sexual abuse; themes about that are often found in her work. Her poetry has appeared in Broad Magazine, Big River Review, Dead King, Ink in Thirds, Burningword Journal, and elsewhere. She lives with her family on a sailboat in the San Francisco Bay, where she writes and makes art. She tweets @penneyknightly and shares on her blog

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