C.N.P Poetry 

  • Cathexis Northwest Press

Moving Day

By: Gabby Mijalski-Fahim


Our lease is up at noon and I should probably pack

Instead I watch her play Jenga with six cardboard boxes

as the June sun beams through our blinds and mazes through the spears of her potted plants

riding her corkscrew curls and landing on the shallowest ponds of her face


She scrapes tack residue from the wall

and my heartbeat competes with her metronomic scratches

I listen to her silently recite the move-out checklist

until it starts to sound like wedding vows or maybe a eulogy


I try to speak but my mouth is lined with soil and excavated for coffins

carrying words I will come to grieve in a month’s time

I want to tell her it’s been two weeks since I last felt her hands

so I feast on my own

sinking my teeth into peeled cuticles and tugging at raw skin until

blood fills the crevices on my fingertips like

Oregon rain floods potholes at dusk


The door slams behind her, stealing all the air from the apartment and

I run my bloodied hand under the sink, emptying what is left of me down the drain

wringing myself dry





Gabby Mijalski-Fahim is a queer poet, recent graduate and cat mother who lives and breathes in Oregon. Her work is featured in The Siren Magazine, a feminist digest at the University of Oregon.