Root Cellar
The canning jar in which you placed me
(before I was born)
has grown snug on this dark, cool shelf.
The ribs in the glass that form letters and words
have embossed my contorted and compromised flesh,
have bent my bones into soft ivory curls.
The pickling solution has caused my teeth to yellow
and the lid with the ring presses down
where my skull should have grown together long ago.
It’s questionable whether I will keep
through another winter.
copyright Megan E. Freeman
originally published in Weird Sisters: Lilac City Fairy Tales, Vol. 3