forgive my muscle memory / & how she holds a season of city blocks & / sunburns beneath her skin: she knows not what she does / & forgive my ugly habits (of which there are too many to name, here) / & how they chew on lemon rinds, begging to be plums / & forgive the dirt under my nails / & how i chew them, still & hungrily. & forgive how i call this / survival: how i don’t even notice all this earth that i have swallowed / & forgive how i don’t even mind this belly full / of mud (despite the bones). & forgive how, with any luck / i’ll bloom the summer after you plant me in the soil / & forgive how you might call this heritage: how you’ll think of me in / everything that is green & how you might, with any luck / call this muscle memory: & think of me, fondly.
An avid introvert & full-time carbon-based life-form, Ashley Cline’s poetry has appeared in “404 Ink” & “SCUM Mag,” among others. Her best at all-you-can-eat sushi is 5 rolls in 11 minutes, & her first chapbook is forthcoming from “Glass Poetry Press.” Twitter: @the_Cline. Instagram: @clineclinecline.