art critic by Tessa Swackhammer
CW: Allusions to self harm

I see myself in it, I say, and you
you kind of roll your eyes because the
painting is just a red blot on the canvas
what a narcissist, you think, but you hold it like a
peppermint behind your teeth
you think I don’t know but I can
smell it on your breath
I just can’t shake the feeling that that is me
that I’m right there that the
painting is just like the
splash of blood on the ceramic in the
bathroom when I forgot to check the
blade
it’s the
spot on the stairs my sister cleaned with a sponge
purple, ragged, fingertips
until my mom touched her shoulder and said,
leave it, leave it there
at least she is
okay
and it’s just a red spot but think of the
red that lives in all of us like a
spot on a painter’s palette
red, like roses in the summer wilting in heat,
red, like cherry lips around a milkshake straw when you realize
hey, there’s something about the way a girl behaves
red, like the spot of colour I could feel on my cheeks
when my teachers would point at me and say,
what is wrong with you?
why can’t you just
speak?
red, like the way fear tastes (cinnamon
hearts)
I don’t say any of us this
because I’m not sure how to get these words to leave
so you keep that mint in your teeth and later, in bed,
I let you say: you’re not everything, you know
and I say, sure, but I am to me.
Tessa Swackhammer is a queer writer from Canada. Her work has been featured in Jaden Magazine and City Limits Press, and was shortlisted for the Plough Arts Prize for Poetry (2021) and longlisted for the Fractured Literary Flash Fiction Prize (2021). You can find them on Twitter and Instagram @TessaSwck.