How might we turn a hashtag into lasting social change? The revelations keep coming, descriptions of sexual harassment and assault both disgusting and horrifyingly
I still remember my lessons. I don’t have enough earthquake to break apart these fault lies, shake off the charm school quiet. The first
Oh father how you crowd so close in this cold barn. How you sweat at fences and your breaking ice for horses.
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.
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.