Dead twelve years, dusty in a drawer of my heart, like the leaf insects and giant earwigs in the basement of a natural history museum. A tiny figurine, still wearing a tattered terrycloth robe, still holding a glass, although the ice melted long ago. My...
The first time, you didn’t know what to wear, and were broke anyway. What you had was a short, satiny dress, fishnet stockings stolen from CVS on 10th. Shoes didn’t matter, obviously. The other girls had on corsets and bustiers, thongs, naked legs and feet. The venue...
That was a good launching pad, the sandstone circle at the cemetery where we hung off the marble hands of Jesus, his blank eyes aflame with fire. The sun set, washing that northeast Montana sky with vermillion then orange until we were sated and the grumbling in our...
There is comfort in the crumpling. That slow surrender syncing low, where body takes the lead—like a knowing before its known, guttural and raw, a maternal embrace with the deep and wide. It’s where intimacy is created, down here on the cold floor, cheek pressed...
