Laura Jeannerette


Sensitive Fish 

I, too, grew up
in a land of inviting electrical sockets,
and steep cellar stairs.
Touched the stove more times
than I have fingers and toes to count.
Some remarked unique,
some creative,
perhaps courageous—
I laughed to stop from screaming.
Autumn evenings I slept on steel rails,
numbed by their vibrations—
while broken bottles
first creased, then cut
my exposed neck.
I dangled over black water
by three fingers
until I was completely anonymous.
I held the wheel and skimmed the edge of the earth, 
swallowed fear like the pride you never had.
The man said, “Move on…
there’s nothing to see here.”
And he was right.
You are gone—
There is nothing left to see 

Laura Jeannerette is an emerging writer living in Pittsburgh, PA, and working as a counselor and advisor for medical students. She describes herself as a dog in a woman's body, and credits humor, books, and her fellow dogs as the recipe for a happy life.

 
 

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