The Yelling Season

In this yelling season we bare our teeth
Devour each other like bottles of wine

I could tell you were drunk
He said
By the way you phrased your words
It takes an ocean, love
I will drown on your floor

Liquor in my coffee
Broken dishes, overturned tables
Behind closed windows
I am wreckage and ruin, love

I am an empty room
Leftovers. Linear bruises
The hallways of late nights, the thud on the floor.
I am pain unconsidered.

You are the splinter for which
I’ve torn back skin
Cut into tissue
Relocated bones to find

At my touch it shatters
I shout for Vodka, Advil, Sanity
I am stitches and wine glasses, garbage of bottles
I am walking a straight line in my head

This is not a problem.



About Anna Paige

Anna Paige is a writer, poet, and photographer advocating for live music culture, visual and performance arts, and the creative class in Montana through writing. More >>