Where Did You Just Go?

Home. Or, more accurately, the structure that housed me through my adolescence. To the day I picked her lock, unlocked her throat with my fingers, opened her body back up for her soul. To the day we had our last family meeting as that family. To the blue chair in her living room, with her weight pressed against my body while my panic crushed itself to my insides. To the back of my closet, the door latches tightly, with piles of coats disguising me. To the dusting of trees I used to call woods, where I tried to escape. I went back to that house and I’m not sure exactly how, nor the path back to the present. I’ve spent so long locking all the doors, painting all the windows shut, fastening all the memories to one another and burying them in the backyard. It seems impossible I’m standing in the old bedroom again because I swore the last time I burned this building down. I want to go home. I want to leave this dwelling behind; I’m begging you to take me home, shackle me to the bed and grind your lips against mine until I forget that place exists. Take me home.

Maggie Bowyer (they/them/theirs) is a poet, cat parent, and the author of various poetry collections including Allergies (2023) and When I Bleed (2021). They are an essayist focusing on Endometriosis, chronic pain, and trauma. They have been featured in Bourgeon Magazine, Capsule Stories, Plainsongs Poetry Magazine, The Abbey Review, Troublemaker Firestarter, Wishbone Words, and more. They were the Editor-in-Chief of The Lariat Newspaper, a quarter-finalist in Brave New Voices 2016, and a Marilyn Miller Poet Laureate. You can find their work on Instagram and TikTok @maggie.writes.