The Case of the Wandering Womb

     Be glad you’re ugly. Ugly girls lead simpler lives.

    She shrinks away from her mother. The train rocks—nowhere to go.

     Her mother talks about hysteria. Stop being hysteric.

     I lean in. Hystera means uterus. Maladies were thought to stem from a wandering womb. I love the word malady. It sounds like my lady.

     She unravels on a frayed seat.

     The mother curses queers who recruit the ugly ones.

     I think of our uteruses roaming the country, far from city smog, razor gazes. Only, I excised mine. Incinerated waste.

     I sleep facing my window, primed for the soft, wet knock.


Shame is the sexiest dress I own

To Sever

To love in perfect solitude is a privilege.

The Dooley Boys

They had something in the eyes, my mama said, that made you wonder what they’d been up to their whole lives.