I want arms to open for me like they open
for my friends whose parents tuck them
into their lives without hesitation. My parents
barely touch me because I cannot bear
another body against mine and shrink
from any embrace. I break the fold and seam
that hold me. I carry loose threads and could
mend the rip if I knew how to sew or how to keep
the pedal of the machine steady but I retreat
before my mother can teach me. At the edge
of the forest, shadows welcome. I hesitate:
at the house my mother calls me to supper.
From the tree line I listen to her voice.
The forest runs endless, a dark cord. I slip in,
secure. My mother never stops calling.
Julie Brooks Barbour is the author of two full-length collections, Haunted City (2017) and Small Chimes (2014), both from Kelsay Books. Her most recent chapbooks include Beautifully Whole (Hermeneutic Chaos Press, 2015) and Earth Lust (Finishing Line Press, 2014). She is co-editor of Border Crossing and poetry editor at Connotation Press: An Online Artifact, and she teaches writing at Lake Superior State University.