Soldier School

The cold of the gun cannon digs into my cheek and my helmet is fastened too tight so I can hardly open my mouth, but these are details of the individual and no longer matter. I cannot be me right now, not for this dance. There is here no I.

Lifting Tupperware Lids

I see the maple-walnut cookies I ate last night, stretching across my ribs in a layer of fat which then pools in the pouch of my lower abdomen, collecting in the hips that swell over the band of the underwear that I bought during a time when I was thinner.

Ant Season

There’s a dead ant in her cream cheese bagel, but she can’t find the energy to care.  It’s ant season after all, sometimes these things can’t be helped.  Extra protein, right? Other cultures eat ants all the time. The air is cold and her heart thrums in her chest with the weight of her To Dos, … Continue reading Ant Season