Ichor

When I was a girl my nipples were hard enough to cut my hands - a point of pride



RECENTLY PUBLISHED


Attica

The city is supposed to make me want to go out at night but most of the time I just want a lot of money and no plans.


Some Days the Bees are Melancholic

Some days the bees are melancholic. Someone spills soda in the hallway and the bees spend hours with sugar on their feelers, leaving small sticky footprints up the spines of #2 pencils. I’m not convinced they’ll ever handwrite an essay.


Little Doves

He calls us his little birds, his little doves. We do not call him God. He tells us this.


A Girl Turns To Stone

Once, she turned to stone mid-stroke and suddenly sank to the bottom of the lake, where whitefish darted between her arms like children running an obstacle course.


Silk

In the days somewhere between one winter and another spring, the night kept calling us to the sewer.


image of red, mustard, black and white swirling pattern

Mother of All Pigs

There is an unspoken fear that a daughter’s innocence, hence marriageability, would somehow be threatened.