poetry by Annie Cigic


Daisies wrap around

the doctor’s chair. 

What keeps me

from lying? I choose


to sit in the corner

so my back won’t face

the door. If I go,


where does my body land?


In rows of checked boxes, taking 

record of a threatening presence?


Before you say no,

I’m wearing the gloves


& I won’t open

my legs. My insides already

clamped & lonely.


This won’t end

in pink or blue ribbons.

I watch the daisies

tangle & root—

they won’t be mine.

The Clinic

poetry by Annie Cigic

The Clinic



The doctors show my body 

before the crime—

before I commit

it to something.




When will the heart begin?




Outside, rosaries rushing out

of hands: pick a color

you want. To believe this

would actually work—




The protestors dance around

the devil. What if I made one 

of them the mother? 




The fourth anniversary

of what didn’t happen.




I stop wearing seatbelts.

I want to drive 

across four lanes 

into a field, wonder

what it’s like for my body

to fill its own empty space.


Annie Cigic

Annie hails from Cleveland, Ohio. She holds an MFA in Poetry from BGSU and will be pursuing a PhD in Rhetoric and Writing in fall 2019. Her work has appeared or is forthcoming in The Bookends Review, Driftwood Press, Gordon Square Review, and elsewhere