They named Jane Doe Ophelia for the flowers they found sewn under her skin, autopsy rose-pungent; incision-less and blossoming. Body turned wilted terrarium. A disturbed ecosystem. In life she’d been…
Papa, you tailor your trousers with spider silk. So many bottled nectars on bronze carts flank your marble table, pour down the slender throats of your petal-gowned women. Papa, I…
Her eyes weren’t open when the wolf came to her. Neither was her pillow damp with dreams. He entered through the spaces in between her clasped hands and the rose…
Those cracks below the surface in the fatherland of fissures, they belong to me. Like a shaker dancing off blemishes of being, you’re my whirling state of praise for shock-receiving…
drink me, he said, and I will show you the wild in your heart and the gold of his hair and his eyes led me to the hill where the…
They say that it will hurt and I want it to. Give me a kind of pain I can hunger for and fathom, pain that folds itself and fits neatly…
When we did the play at school, I was the house Or the walls that kept the cold out. Or the door that let the fussy girl in. She was…
We visit rooms that look just like rooms of houses from long ago. Eating candied orange peel and ginger on porcelain blue plates, we talk about time. It is preserved…
Oh sisters dear, no more the stars, No more the soft grass underfoot. United then, we’d slip out from our window, Step down into cool night worlds. A dozen girls…
Lying behind mehis breath in mine. Childhoodof old age. The Ticuna are burning a bluegreysmoke in terraced paths for spear-nosed bats.Trees walking like human-walking. Shellsin leaf litter, leopards roar in…
Gingerbread House Lit Mag 