Girlhood, selfhood, and the fragility of safety in tender poems that examine and then mourn micro- and macroscopic violence.
"Set back, growing dim,
it pulsed: a gray hour
of oxygen—could it be
mid-winter within
him? Shaking
out a muscle: we
are somewhere
averting. We are
backwards or in
a trance or in a
dioxide stargazing."
"Set back, growing dim,
it pulsed: a gray hour
of oxygen—could it be
mid-winter within
him? Shaking
out a muscle: we
are somewhere
averting. We are
backwards or in
a trance or in a
dioxide stargazing."
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