J.M. Baker

bouquet

death broke like a wave, then lived as an idea made of muscle. it withheld its name while i was
too small to carry it. now it is content, motif. i knew a woman who was a hoarder of
catastrophes. she clipped them from newspapers, smoothed them out, inserted them into her body
down the throat hatch. they thickened into happenings and glimmered like cold syrup in her eyes.
even as illness consumed her, sucked her flesh through the bones, she wouldn’t believe in god
because he was unkind. her faith was in tragedy. she propped herself up with extra pillows,
couldn’t finish her tea, and read the same page, the light through her finger bones, until the pain
brought sleep. her hands were raw and evaporating, like carved soap. she taught me that death in
time keeps quiet. everything gets enveloped. the way green finds its way. or how water seals over
its breaking. as if innocence were a thing to be ashamed of.

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J.M. Baker received an MFA from UC San Diego in 2016. Baker’s work has appeared in The Brooklyn Review, The Antioch Review, Phoebe, and Epiphany, among other places. Additionally, Baker’s work has been named a finalist for The St Lawrence Book Award, The Brittingham Prize, and The Pollak Prize. J.M. Baker currently teaches in the Boston area.