[MOTHER / SMOTHER]
by Sophie Zhu

The arc         of the moon soft      & intangible
                   —our bodies         holding the light 
it unhinges.          teethed so heavy,   it broke
bonds & a bite     of valence,            like dawn.
            we mouth mother                over & over
[a lip       of silence / again]          until it thins
into   sorrow.         & every relic         of touch
   unbuttons our bodies              bone by bone:
            peace snagged                 at noon,
the throat   speech.  little murders    we grew
            out of            & it was always us   two--
running       out of      [this body / this swilled
earth / time /                       our skin / wounds
to run              out of],            wading
     past   the weight           of death      & from
this      I learn   we still bear             an accent
in every silence;        there is nothing      this
            body cannot take             except place,
it seems.               & from this                I smear
what I have [left / rightfully]  to give: bullet,
bullet,   bullet     point of this body,    ellipsis
       to keep us       drowned           in a wound
the width         of our shut eyes.    & from this
            I want to set                 every truth
to lie                        on its back.             to wear
our wounds                  [away like time / again
-st this language     of brine].           My sound,
​             which is the echo    of a daughter
is the echo      of a mother           is a smother,
      goes in my hands            like hands.   
I bury my noise                  in them like a face.

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Sophie Zhu is a high school sophomore from New York. Her work is forthcoming in Cosmonauts Avenue, and she is a 2020 poetry alumna of The Adroit Journal's summer mentorship under Keith S. Wilson. When not reading Barthes, she is an avid mathlete, pianist, and deconstructionist.