unMuse

I wake.
where your hands
have strayed
is stained
with light. Still,
the frozen lake inside me
remains. I will not
turn you into a god—
Not even
if you took an axe to it,
Not even
if you asked for it.
No, No—we’ve enough
of those. Light blooms
around us regardless,
unfurls and rises
like a ghost.

Eleanor Colligan is from the Midwest and currently based in NYC. She has a degree in statistics and is a reader for ONLY POEMS, Muzzle Magazine, and the Triquarterly Review. You can find more of her @pythonprince on Instagram and theestateofeleanorcolligan.hotglue.me