by Melanie Galizio Stratton

Sleep when the baby sleeps, scream when the baby screams. Cry all the time.
What, that’s not supposed to happen? Add liar to my resume.
I’m fine.

Add milkmaid to my resume. Scratch that, add cow.
You’re the milkmaid.
I’m fine, I’m fine, I’m fine.

Where do you go when you sleep? You giggle and you whimper.
Do I smile in your dream? The corners of my face feel like plaster from all the smiling. I’m a model,
a muse.
I’m in an agony of fineness.

Do you see our big dog? He is old and will die before you can recall him.
On my phone I read you don’t see anything.
That’s probably for the best.

Add researcher to my resume. Add the sea.
When I lay my head down next to yours, the boat springs a leak and I gasp myself awake before
I can shovel you out.
You are startled. Your tiny mouth opens and I dive in.

Melanie Galizio (she/her) is an Ohio-based poet, possessed of a curious spirit and deep love of Earth. Her interests span the arts, but she has recently found inspiration in traditional folk music, aural storytelling, and mixed media creative practices. Her recent work has appeared in Cider Press Review. Find her on Instagram at @melanifluous and @melanifluous.bsky.social on Bluesky.