cunt. bomb.
Coming Soon: February 2019
Featured Work:
This Wild Fire
What my mother must have thought on the night of her attempted suicide.
What my mother must have thought on the night of her attempted suicide.
The fire was ripe as it tore across my skin. Mango-hot,
koi-heavy with gold. I took the flames of my finger nails,
like sabers and wrenched the heat from my neck. Tore
four talons of plump honey-colored juice from the anterior
jugular vein. Leaked out onto the rug. I was a stain spreading.
The shag carpet testament to the need for my escape.
koi-heavy with gold. I took the flames of my finger nails,
like sabers and wrenched the heat from my neck. Tore
four talons of plump honey-colored juice from the anterior
jugular vein. Leaked out onto the rug. I was a stain spreading.
The shag carpet testament to the need for my escape.
I wanted the roar to go away. The dizzying house to dissolve.
I thought I saw my daughter fall, but the storm was so thick
and the locust blurred my sight. I did not drop to my knees.
I thought I saw my daughter fall, but the storm was so thick
and the locust blurred my sight. I did not drop to my knees.
Instead my bathrobe was a wail-song. My hair scripture.
Midnight and it was absolutely fucking biblical.
Midnight and it was absolutely fucking biblical.
I ran zig-zag from the house. The cold air of it an embrace.
For those few minutes, I was a wild fire of a woman. Lot’s Wife.
For those few minutes, I was a wild fire of a woman. Lot’s Wife.
But this time
I did not look back.
I did not look back.