The Double//Ruth Crossman


She wasn’t made of clay

in this early morning dreamscape she was just ectoplasm

it started off with pillow humping, like always

trying to summon something that would not cum until I did,

it rolled off me and then I appeared

more fleshed out than predicted and smiling like a co-conspirator

my twin—except maybe less ugly, her tits were fuller

we stood up and at the foot of the bed she reached for a shirt

I let her, but then thought better of it and made her spin instead

so I could examine the distribution of stretch marks more closely

I was afraid when she made eye contact

I lunged and when I grabbed her neck she popped

collapsed

disappeared somewhere between the bed and wall and I felt better

until my shoelaces started moving:

slowly but without mistake

like they wanted to tie themselves

Ruth Crossman is a writer and English teacher based out of Oakland, California. Her poetry has appeared in drylandlit_press and her fiction will be featured in the upcoming issue of Full of Crow Review. Her first chapbook, a collection of memoir, prose, and poetry, will be published in the fall of 2016.