Find the cauldron behind the door. An arm hangs over its lip, as if the lonely limb could escape. Floating on the congealed blood, the skinned faces of your sisters.…
If you come to these ruins, you’ll find pianos left lid-less and gutted. They’ll remind you of canoes from bedtime stories—the ones in which women lay down and died—now empty…
I. She lies across the bed in a diagonal, hair glints like the red of Tecate. In the street, a lone lamp sends rays that pool along the sidewalk to…
One morning, a girl came upon a well and lowered a pail for water. When she raised it, sunk at the bucket’s bottom, she found two hands. One she sliced…
I keep my heart in the knee- -creases of my knickers, down where it can be seen, touched, taken. The women folk say, close your legs, wear your skirt long…
Head out onto I-20. Pick up highways like bread crumbs, maybe they’ll lead you somewhere, maybe you’ll find what you’re looking for. Follow the asphalt and tar to the City,…
It’s quite clear the heroine must journey through birches and pines, through snow drifts or the summer’s biting heat. The path ends. The shadow spreads— she stares at a skull…
My mind’s choir is humming life back into my veins. I step in the sea and give up my fear of drowning. Angels sigh and beckon me further, toward barnacled…
I go down to the water to see the eels. Their slippery silence entrances me. I pull off my soft leather shoes, my hose, hitch up the heavy rolls of…
I won’t want to remember what you look like, the sound of your voice. I’ll call you Dorothy. It’s the future, the skin- buzz of a tattoo on the back…
Gingerbread House Lit Mag 