Anne Sexton's Ashtray
No one in their right mind
would keep these things around;
The interment of still bodies
slanted between filth and glass.
At least not out in the open, and
especially not around children—
A wound is a mother is a wound.
If you happen to find it and pick
it up, her mouth I mean—and place it
to your ear, you will hear nothing.
What do you expect from the dead,
an apology? Don’t you know, where
there’s smoke, there’s fire, and then
the opposite? Her words smolder
on the tongue, then taste like ash.
Jodi Balas is a neurodivergent poet from northeast Pennsylvania. Her poetry has been accepted in Hole in the Head Review, Painted Bride Quarterly, Wild Roof Journal, and elsewhere. Jodi’s poem, “His mouth, mine” was selected as a finalist for the 2023 River Heron Review poetry prize and her poem, “Bone Density” won the 2023 Comstock Review Muriel Craft Bailey Award judged by Danusha Lameris. Jodi is in the process of developing her first Chapbook to market to the poetry world. You could follow her musings on Instagram @jodibalas_