My family history is that of
slow traumas
scars that ripple across my
mother’s chest, soft &
vicious like the water
that burned it
soft & flickering like
the way my grandmother’s
breath went out,
a broken filament
soft & murderous like
honey
a bee’s sting
& I, part of this
slow trickle, soft &
waiting for the day
I am washed down
a drain
telling my own daughter
to quell her grief
Mariel Fechik is a musician and writer from Chicago, where she works for an educational nonprofit. Her work has appeared or is forthcoming in Cosmonauts Avenue, Lines + Stars, Black Napkin Press, and others. Her very favorite possession is a ring shaped like a shark mouth, and she eats a lot of brie.