by Fran Fernàndez Arce

As part of our collection of work submitted to the blog due to being overqualified for Swim Press’ issue, we have a poem pertaining to the theme of bodies.


I cherish the pieces

that won’t fit

in my shoes: toes,

heels, dead skin,

bones. These walls

whisper in foreign

tongues of fire

and salt. I’m seen

by spiders dangling

from the ceiling,

illuminated by

lampshades I have

refused to wipe.

Reduced to

accumulations, I waltz

empty handed around

dying dust bunnies

and leftover moth

shells. Would somebody

colour these corners

with shades of dirt,

shades of touch and

hide away the perfect

crevices of this footprint-

haunted floor?

Face a red-infused

ashen field of

fossilised blushes,

I listen to the walls

as they leave

me behind. I sink

down the pipes


the ground,

the carpet moss

stenched where I

live to melt.


depressions, I’m

bound to never

leave this flat

I cannot live in,

the corners of

this home,

I listen


to the shadows

of a hundred

missed calls.

You can find more of Fran’s work on Twitter and Instagram.

Cover photo via Pinterest.

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