If You Asked, I Would Say

My back strikes the wall as I watch
your roots tendril taut
around my spine deep
enough to prevent me
from scattering my own seeds—
I’ve been waiting to flower
since I discovered

how to spell love. You train
my etch-a-sketch heart
that three lefts make a right
decision, that my left hand

is shaped to hold
only calluses, that my bruised
smile gives you permission
to seize the bold parts of me

and rewrite them in italics.
You’re a safety blanket
with a hole I am

reaching through.

You do not want me
whole-heartedly. You consume me broken.

When my backbone slams the wall,
it hangs there. I remember
to forget the feeling of wind
leaving my body: a backhanded breath
I catch later.

Allison DeRose is an English/Creative Writing graduate student at The College at Brockport in Western New York. At the college, she has received several scholarships for her poetry and is currently a writing tutor on campus. Allison is constantly being inspired by words and also enjoys taking photos of nature.