Trees dusted in snow watch over you as you sleep. Your poinsettia holds onto three bright petals. The mountain winks in the background. Here in their shadow, you are small, but full of strength. Here, he runs his fingertips down your spine as pine whistles in the window. The trees are silent in their watching. […]
Madness can grow from boredom. Shut tight, and that is when the wallpaper starts to move. Constrained in dresses and rhymes, and that is when the purple cat grins. Lock her in a house with no hallways, and that is when she takes an axe.
We rounded up a jam jar with fireflies. Still sticky, they glowed, lighting up the innocence in her blue eyes. We laughed, surrounded by bread crumbs and things that glow in the moon.
The white ice shivers to blue at the touch of the snake’s back, frigid spine trembling. This bold river— like a grizzly’s nails, it scrapes at the barks of trees, until sticky sap yields and it drinks the flesh.
Her lips pucker up like a sour raspberry. She is sucking on cherries. She spits their oiled seeds into the dry dirt. Grinning with wild teeth, she chews. Spits. Chews, spits. Her tongue licks the salt off her red lips, and her soft brown eyes are glazed. “Becky—” She falls to the Earth and curls […]
White fur bright like a surrender, she scrapes at icy snow, peeling iridescent diamonds from the Earth.
There is a place in my mind where the butterflies beat; slick brain fog drips from wings that are stifled and wet. Unfolding, they stretch against my eyes for a way out.