i slink from bed & i drag my limbs past your grey New Balances & your slight cache of a stomach, your black inked star & crescent, sternum stretched & anxious thoughts tear rings off Saturn & i want to slow down. so my footsteps don’t screech the northern sun exposed floorboards & inside, i weep glass shards, my guts churn butter & my legs retreat into the clanking of paper ice skating the table & i’ve seen you so far & i start to write & you sleep in. your breaths are the moments before a tea kettle whistle & already are you thinking how to find a way out?
Winter Yim (they/them) is an emerging writer originally from Massachusetts and currently based in New Jersey. Their writing covers themes such as home and belonging, identity, and queerness.














