Leaves squeeze up my esophagus and I open my mouth
into a bouquet. I pull at the leaf doll, feel her feet scratch
up and, bleeding, she crumples into my palms.
I trim foliage, pick out bad twigs, rotted roots,
I pluck at the brambles and vines in her hair, her swampy
face full of neglect. I lick my thumb and rub at her thorns,
dull them enough to see Truly Me circa 1998.
Her dress, matted with bile, sharp words,
and hegemonic splinters, shimmers darkly, carved contents
of woman. I place her in a bin, wash away grudge and brackish
fibers. The restoration process is simply “to rinse.”
As soon as I finish, her hands feel soft, like mine.
Self-Portrait
Allyn Bernkopf is pursuing her Ph.D. in Creative Writing at Oklahoma State University, where she was the recipient of the Gladys Burris Creative Writing Fellowship. Her work has appeared or is forthcoming in Two Thirds North, The Greensboro Review, Door = Jar, Open Minds Quarterly, Slippery Elm Literary Journal, Barely South Review, and others, and has been anthologized in Women’s Voices Anthology (These Fragile Lilacs 2017) and Lost: Reflections (Medusa’s Laugh Press, 2017). She holds a Master of Arts in English from Weber State University.