Mariel Fechik

& the end

I spend the morning pouring
costume jewelry down the
heavy iron drain and

my grief does not go down with it

The grinding metal spits back
molten globs of plastic, semi-precious

coloring the off white kitchen tiles
as the afternoon light closes on the
cellar door, locked tight

at the last time we stood on the lawn,
listening to the small voices
of baby birds nesting in the drainpipes

and I leave home for the last time

Kohaku River
after Hayao Miyazaki’s Spirited Away

Girl clinging to her mother swims through river comes
out the other side wrapped in green moss and bath water,
finds herself transparenting in the dusk, finds herself
alone. Girl throws herself in the fire comes out
soot-stained and unnamed, finds herself a serpent, finds
herself sleep-drunk and bloodied. Girl escapes the flood
comes out faceless and dimmed, finds herself emptied,
finds herself filled. Girl saves herself in the water comes
out falling and glittering, finds herself, finds herself.

Mariel Fechik lives in Chicago, IL and works in a library. She sings for the band Fay Ray and writes music reviews for Atwood Magazine and Third Coast Review. Her work has been nominated for Best of the Net and Bettering American Poetry, and has appeared or is forthcoming in Hobart, Tinderbox Poetry Journal, Cream City Review, and others. She is the author of the micro-chapbook An Encyclopedia of Everything We've Touched (Ghost City Press, 2018).

JD Thornton