Oh father how you crowd so close in this cold barn. How you sweat at fences and your breaking ice for horses.
Author: by Laura Allen
The driver’s gaze waits in anticipation for it. We look away. We speak for the one who has no voice. The hula dancer
My nickname, scrawled on the picture of a naked woman on her knees. The shame. Little things. It’s the chubby fourth grade boy
A taxidermist, he fills my body With stiffening thoughts To keep me from running away.
Every time he left, I would feel all of my muscles shake out of a tense grip, as if I’d been holding on to the
you almost forgot that after it happens, friends abandon you all at once without a word everyone at the same time is too busy or
my step mother said she’d feel nothing if she were raped her daughters turned away from her my mother said something terrible happened
he found me there summer seven, undressing into a sequined slip from ‘30; left me big red bites like the bees outside.
I was not the target I was collateral damage and still my heart beats extra as I write this story