Claire Christoff is an MFA candidate in poetry at the University of Illinois. Her work has appeared in Passages North, Grist, and the minnesota review.



Claire Christoff

Cowardice Before the Flight of Time


Simone Weil never brushed her hair and neither do I. I rake my fingers through a rat’s nest of bangs, lick my dry lips, but spit only makes the bleeding worse. When I hide my raw knuckles in mittens, like a child, rasps of wool catch where skin used to be. Some mothering voice in my head says Take better care of yourself, which is easy when I don’t take care of myself at all. I bought four yogurts and three of them were expired so I sat in the supermarket parking lot, waiting for a crow to come and soil my windshield or maybe partake of my curdled bounty. Simone Weil didn’t care about sex or hygiene and she did not want to eat, but perhaps if I had known her — if our lifetimes had lined up just a little — this would have been different. We could have read the complete works of Schopenhauer and washed the bird shit from our mittens, poured heavy cream into saucers and lapped like kittens while the peasants in France ate only whey. Comb your hair, my red virgin, my little Bolshevik. Take better care of yourself.




Glass: A Journal of Poetry is published monthly by Glass Poetry Press.
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