(Un)freezing Process

By Lila Cutter

Thin blue lips post-thaw post-freezing-over I
froze over in static moments
you can only swallow so many
episodes of Dawson’s Creek Abby dying by
drunk-diving over the pier downing
the bottle of stolen champagne like a god or
a good teenager. There are two ways to
unstuck yourself: in bubbles or
a dive. Imagine a pipevine swallowtail 

orange-spotted like the eyes of a creature
in the night caught in flashlight deep-blue
palates of wings forcing the pin
from its own still form breath rising from
its once-sanctuary of an abdomen through
tracheal tubes air bubbling bypassing
the mouth forcing pin-pop until the butterfly
is free unspecimined. I wrap myself

in shipping blankets thick gray commingled
with insulation blue fiber integrated for extra
padding. I wrap my elbows knees hip bones
fingertips: everything that juts. I wrap myself like
a precious piece of furniture I want to keep
unhurt. I wrap myself so tightly I can’t sit
on my blue velvet couch to rewatch Joey rowing
across the creek meet her friend meet her lover
drag a boat herself across the water elbows
alternating obtuse and acute ship this
hollow vessel home water dripping off oars
flecking skin in languid melt.

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Lila Cutter is a Midwest-turned-West-Coast poet with an MFA from Oregon State University. Her poetry can be found in Sugar House Review, The Citron Review, Miniskirt Magazine, Ursus Americanus Press, and The Racket Journal, among others. Lila’s writing often explores perceptions of femininity and considerations of home.