boundless by Maryann Aita

I order chicken wings
for two
and eat them
alone.
twice the slippery sauce
dripping
from my lips and fingertips,
twice the chicken nestled
in my gut, my human
need met. I am gratified,
exhausted, like the feeling
I get walking
thirty city blocks
alone
in the summer
with my sweat sheath
and in the winter, with
my chicken wing
belly—like the feeling
I get wrapping myself
in my own warmth.
I inhabit twice my space
in half a bed. half a bed
empty—
my knees
draw triangles
and I watch endless
netflix, repeating seasons—
streaming, streaming I am
leaking my human
Maryann Aita (rhymes with beta) is a writer and performer in Brooklyn, New York. Her debut essay collection, Little Astronaut, is forthcoming from ELJ Editions in spring 2022. Maryann's writing appears in PANK, The Porter House Review, perhappened, and other journals. She is the nonfiction editor at Press Pause Press. Follow her on twitter/instagram @maryann_aita