Tori Grant Welhouse

Vaginas Need Air Tori Grant Welhouse

"Tickle Back"

Mother swirls my naked back like skywriting, with the ends of her fingers, twirling, teasing me to sleep.

I'm aware of the fabric of my pajama top rolled at the back of my neck, the heavy weight of lying flat on my stomach, arms at my sides, slight dip of the mattress under her hip, short bursts of breath as she whorls the expanse of my back, runnel of spine, wings of my shoulder blades.

I'm aware of night sounds through the screen, wind rushing the trees, dogs barking, car horns bleating. The wider universe, thickness of evening on the low horizon, clouds like clotted cream, heavy with moisture and marvel, stars charged with points of light, snagging my dream eyes.

Andromeda on my back. Cassiopeia. Virgo. Mother conjures a constellation on my skin, configuration of feelings, night-wishing.



Originally published in Up North Literary Journal