the cage I keep myself in
has come unbolted from the bed
of the truck I am attempting
to drive myself home in.
and quite frankly
I do not know
how i will keep it from flying off
and landing in the middle of the road.
I am a dog in your trunk
a dog in your flatbed
a dog banging around with every speed bump.
I am the dog you let in your bed and
I am the fleas I leave behind
to bite you every night
red rings around the edges of your socks
and kissing the nape of your neck.
Poem by Abbie Hart
Image by Adam Strong
Abbie Hart (she/they) is a 19 year old poet from Houston, TX currently living in Worcester, MA. She has been published over 30 times, and is the editor in chief for the Literary Forest Poetry Magazine. In her spare time, she learns useless skills, daydreams about pottery, and does her best to be a nice warm soup. Her first chapbook, “head is a home,” was released by Bottlecap Press in August 2023. Her website is abbiemhart.wordpress.com.
Backwards Trajectory 