The weight of your body on top of me, pressing me into the mattress, covering me with heat, pressure. I disappear, sink down deep between, beneath the surface of the sheets, down, down where the watermelons grow. If my threads dissolve, you won't grieve for me. It's as if I was never born. I was only a ghost, just spirit. You could lay on top of me all night long—no bones or organs to get in the way. No matter, no atoms or molecules of me to separate us. Me and you—body and spirit—becoming one.
is a writer, editor, and poet. Her work has appeared in numerous literary magazines and been nominated for Best of the Net and Best Spiritual Literature. She earned first place in Women On Writing
's Q2 2022 essay contest. Bethany enjoys chai lattes, nature walks, and memoirs. She lives near Pittsburgh with her family. Connect with her at bethanyjarmul.com
or on Twitter: @BethanyJarmul