November 20, 2017

transfiguration of the part-time girl

ah the grotesque

glamor of being a creature

spending the days alone
scuttling around the apartment

catching up on medications

subsisting on coffee & canned beans

browsing new shower curtains online

the comfort is crushing
the opposite en...

November 3, 2017

Blind mute Dog.

Before my mother’s emergency 

  hysterectomy

            I remember seeing sanitary pads

concertinaed and stuffed away

  wondering if

bletting

       her stomach

or

remembering  things he’d bit

 from her tongue 

...

September 4, 2017

In 1952 I was thirteen years old and desperate for my life with breasts to begin. All the other girls were blooming like peonies, but I remained stuck in a babyish white undershirt, skinny and flat. Back then bras had stitched pointy cups made with stiff white cotton,...

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