Linda Wojtowick is a writer from Montana now living in Portland, Oregon. Her current project is a collection based around the theme of animal, vegetable, mineral, wherein poem takes its name from a famous racehorse, a type of tomato strain, or a mineral. Off the Coast recently nominated her poem “Mr. Stripey” for a Pushcart Prize. Her work has also appeared in Spoon River Poetry Review, Two Hawks Quarterly, The American Aesthetic, Unbroken, Clementine Poetry Journal, The Prompt, Minetta Review, Ink In Thirds, The Communal Table, Aberration Labyrinth, and The Slag Review.

Dear Abby

A few weeks ago I changed everything
in the bathroom to white. Now, I don’t know.
It feels like a joke. What started as a suggestion
of grace, of truth, has been dark and flat
and sad. It’s a clean I can never live up to.
I do have a question for you. It’s here
with me in this house. But I can’t ask it yet.
Let me explain: things happen in my town.
A boat went missing off the marbled coast last week
and planes circled the harbor like bees.
The tap water went silver. My tall glasses shimmer
and crack. I can’t get a handle on this, on anything.
I fight the errant hair or cell in my immaculate room
yet blink numbly out my window at the weeds.
I whip together calming teas, long breaths,
outline a blotchy strength I’ve never possessed.
I dream of a woman I love and want to be:
At dawn a line cook stands on the pier and unfurls her hands.
Her breath moves her bones apart and she feels her feet
in her sturdy, minimal shoes. She burgeons.
Readies herself to cook a thousand eggs.