Friday, August 08, 2014


I find you swimming, cheeks flushed
            like summer squash. Your father’s screams
echo against the riverbed as he drags you
            by your earlobe from the sweet lick
of Indiana freshwater. I wish it were Thursday night
            again, Molly piercing through your flesh
with a needle from her grandmother’s sewing kit,
            with a diamond she stole from her aunt.
Now your ear bleeds, sore and crusty, diamond
            popped from its socket like an arrowhead.
Your father ripens, flesh maddened, a husk,
            the blood, war paint, water clouding like dusk.

This poem has appeared in The Adroit Journal.

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