March 14, 2019

Wiccan wo(man)

It was the sting of the razor against red painted legs,

poltergeist scars burning at the echo of trimmed hairs.

Witch rituals of evening hour;

forward ageing ladies made non-linear at request.

Their hair, their nails, their egos cut to reverse the workings of...

March 14, 2019

Bleeding on Telegraph

Red blossom lady of Berkeley. Lovely

lady, limping lady of crucifixion

groin. A drifter of bayonet gashes.

On the inside you may be riddled with handgun

holes, but your wounds date back to childhood

burns. Telegraph, filled with racks of tie-dye

and ince...

March 14, 2019

your mistake

i looked past your pink scrubbed skin

the pen in the pocket of your shirt

and tried to see your heart

maybe

i thought

maybe

we dined but never really danced

still i hoped

i wanted it to be you

even though you were always nervous

wearing abandonment like a raincoat

you...

March 14, 2019

Tumblr profile (age | gender | sexuality) I leave

blank.

Willing to trade for wine: three work dresses,

two pencil skirts, and one white bra from 1999.

/

G-chat:

I spent my morning scouring Facebook

for store recommendations

that aren’t H&M and Uniqlo.

The internet keeps tellin...

March 14, 2019

Carriers

Each morning, I tie a note

to you on a bird’s leg. The birds change

daily—pigeons, owls, swallows,

parrots the shades of the rain-

bow—dappling the sky. Scroll after scroll—

no answer. They’re not love notes, I swear.

They’re the minutiae of a simple life, the tasks

o...

Sanitarium

I pace through electric

hallways until the reel

of my firestarter’s blaze

& bogged lotus are

stilled by lapping potions

from a dog dish,

like a good girl.

Elizabeth York Dickinson received her MFA in Writing from Sarah Lawrence College. She has work published or for...

March 14, 2019

<contemporary child>

con(temporary)child

i eat

+ evolve

        her voice is sex

        a good phoenix

        like guilty human soup

        pregnant with glass...

March 14, 2019

ambidextrous

my imagination

is ambidextrous

there are curves

on the curves

of my curves

mango asterisks

carbonized hyphens

salty marks

of interrogation

grace

I’ve decided to dress my body

in blessings. speak to my breath

with the amazement it deserves

gather around myself in communi...

March 14, 2019

THE ANGELS OF THE SICKROOM

[ : when you woke ]                the blankets we shared became the darkest sultry swamp -

embedding us in touch of tugging limbs and plump bellies

while my fingers entwined into you, your tender ripening bodi...

March 14, 2019

Musings

An engaging book

A stray strand of my hair

Your wedding ring by the bathtub

Leftovers of yesterday’s pizza

The dried leaves in the driveway

The spilled coffee on the table

The water stains on the glass window

The tear stains on my pillow

or was it yours, who knows

Your b...

March 14, 2019

THERE’S A SPOT OF BLOOD

in the center of our mattress

           it usually blends in with the flowers

when I’m changing the sheets

                  I check to make sure it’s still there

...

March 14, 2019

Squid in its Own Ink

I used to listen to Jacques Brel Is Alive and Singing in Paris.

Now I sit on the couch with a towel in my lap,

I eat rice and beans, find the day exhausting.

I think about godlessness, and about

how wisteria

is in a constant state of diving-down,

or of de...

March 14, 2019

Metamorphosis

it is 2013 and a boy is telling me

he loves me and I’m 14 so how

could I not believe it? he’s loved

five other girls already this year,

but now he loves me and that

makes me special, makes me chosen.

he texts me, you’re so pretty. you have

such soft skin, and my...

March 14, 2019

call Sarah

mom tells the lady in her Subaru radio to call me, but the lady doesn’t understand. i’m sorry, i didn’t

catch that. can you please repeat the name? mom says it again. clearer, louder, un-human speech. mouth

wet, wide open. i’m sorry, i didn’t catch that. can y...

March 14, 2019

Inanna walks through Delhi

Inanna bites off her askance and saunters towards my

front door. I float away into her hair and dream of

cacti and sandalwood and take her through my city,

through brown shadows and gilded stories, through

cheap candy floss and obsidian eyes, thro...

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