Blood for Water: Hands
I could begin with how I often lay in bed thinking about the blood running down my arms while looking out at the flowers from my window. I could trace my laying out to the fact that we don’t talk about Jerry. Jerry, who supposedly was cleaning his gun in the laundry room and the gun went off. I could talk about the ways the story changes over time from person to person.
Continue reading “Tiara Raven Marie Clover”
Piece 1:
A woman stands by a mountain at night
prodded and plodded by authoritarian men
she rests her head as a specimen
and in the morning that follows wakes up to be hollowed
Continue reading “Kukkamari Gröndahl”
The Sea Witch
The door opened with a sudden motion and I nearly fell inside. We stared at each other for seven shocked seconds, until she let out a wild little laugh and grabbed my wrist, dragging me indoors.
Continue reading “Maya Goel”
Look Up An Inch
Climbing out, it turns out, is much the same as falling in. The pit has insidious walls. They reverberate like plucked piano wires. Every minute is a sound, and every minute that hits them bounces back, resounds and resounds until that minute, that moment, that second becomes endless, infinite. Each echo darkens the dark, and each sickly, sickening thought that you beg not to think glares brighter and brighter until it rewrites itself against the flesh of your brain. Until it blinds utterly.
Continue reading “G.B. Lindsey”
“Amongst the Wildflowers”
I grew up amongst the wildflowers,
Where honeysuckle nights,
Blew the colored winds,
Through the fan-fared window.
Madwomen in the Attic 