We Lived This Way For Years

time slipped from our grasp
and like a moony girl we clung
harder to our holy texts
filtering out life’s variegated
strings, jaws of spit
tautening in the crevices
a mouth wishing only for a better
pair of breasts.

candles melted at windowsills
the heart rolled
in the earth’s slip —

judgement, self-flagellation, 
pity — these things returned 
to the core of a person
where once a body
ambulated without
the condition of a gaze
though we accustomed
with eerie quickness
to each other’s evaluation

you cannot decide
lightning will strike; and the trust 
between us
dissolved; animals died
unremarked upon; hearts
were felled by disrepute
and lies; soles socked
in lead; everyone of us intubated
as a psychotic
desire to reinvent one’s self continued
to abound; it was like the time
I had to get drunk
to tell you how I felt, genuflecting
before the knot of ice
blood beading my cuticles, and 
what I wanted to say was
I’d like to imagine this world
in another way


Margaret Saigh is a writer, dancer, and educator based in Pittsburgh. She is the author of the chapbook CROSSED IN THE DARKER LIGHT OF TERROR (dancing girl press 2022), a graduate of the MFA program at the University of Pittsburgh, and the creator of circlet, a virtual poetry workshop and reading space. Her poems are forthcoming in giallo lit and A Velvet Giant.