Year Zero. Skeleton Two.

We carry rubbles around

A postwar landscape:

Charred buildings, distorted spines

Of metal exposed.

Skeleton of our past lives,

Which we roam, searching

For a bit of coal or wax

Or string. We invent

Substitutes for coffee, love,

And moral conduct.

No chicken leg, no waistcoat,

That old world is gone.

On the pier, there is a boat.

Go get a suitcase.

Fill it with the skeleton

Of our love, defunct.

Lorelei Bacht (she/her/they/them) is a European poet living in Asia with her family, which includes two young children and a lot of chaos. Her current work is primarily concerned with gender, motherhood, marriage, and aging. This year, her work has appeared or is forthcoming in such publications as OpenDoor Poetry Magazine, Litehouse, Visual Verse, Visitant and Quail Bell. She can be found on instagram: @lorelei.bacht.writer and @the.cheated.wife.writes

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