Shame

by Sophie Kidd ‘22

It follows me like an apostle:

devout, unyielding.

And I, enshrined in his eternal gaze.

Inside, I am deformed,

organs displaced by the rotting mass

that is settled in my stomach;  

I welcomed it in. 

My mother says she is proud of me.

I want to vomit 

so she can see the black sludge 

hiding under waxy skin,

swishing with each step.

At night, I am left with the quiet

crime of my life.

Its oppressive weight grinds me

into a pulp, 

drips off my sheets.

I sleep there, 

in the pool of my sorrows. 

In the morning, that shadowy figure

gathers my husk,

carries me through the day 

his iced hands rip into me 

over and over. 

I grow numb,

hoping he will devour me

so I may hide in oblivion. 

nosebleed

by Michele Morgan ‘24

ninety degrees over the sink,

watching my head drain out.

white sweater, white porcelain,

thick crimson blooms and petals

blown across both, deciduous,

nothing william carlos williams

hasn’t said before about wheelbarrows

and chickens.

sanguine metronome, heartbeat

in hemoglobin, “please don’t go,”

i whisper to each drop as it falls;

gravity is more persuasive, counting

seconds, i lose a little bit more of myself

down the drain. please don’t go.

better in the basin than the back of my throat.

i’ve always been one to choke.