Three faces filled this room once
Glossy like a serpent scale catching shining light beside the daytime flame, the glass now slowly
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Phantom Womb Syndrome
My ovaries are unremarkable, the report says. Hormone-radiant little moons, stale little sugar cookies, a left/right
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The Box on the Bridge
I Hellish yet rising to heaven, they couldn’t look away. It wasn’t a bridge; it was
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The Perfect Storm
Your musing of the whale’s belly entrails in the horde, to look onto the stormy waters.
Oil and Karras
There, on Allston Street in Cambridge, spotlit by streetlights, I consider cobblestones peeking through a broken