Gift

by Leah Muncy

The secret is that we all wish we had it worse

than anyone else. The doctor rides in on his horse

and says: I’m sorry, this pain is original. This frees you

from the thousands of angelfish swimming upstream

in your chest. Frees you from the vision of hands

in the desert, plucking the numbers

from your tiny clock. And your nights, once infested

with flies carrying messages to the altar,

God just standing there in his strange robe.

Leah Muncy’s writing has appeared or is forthcoming in HAD, The Skybridge Review, The Passionfruit Review, b l u s h, West 10th, New York Magazine, Architectural Digest, and others. She lives in Brooklyn with her cat, Pony, and works as an art director. You can find her on Instagram @lelahmoney.