By: E. Alexandra
a house, you didn’t trust, would not step foot in, could not breathe in, a sunken ship, caverns, you only just crawled out of, I dug my toes in the bristles of a pink polka-dotted mat, Welcome, you paced a hawk, clawing at your skin, eclipsed - the sun, your eyes transfixed, a single blade of grass, you - seemed like a man in need of a task, river beds carved on your face by raging waters, not caused by me
E. Alexandra is a psychologist living in New Mexico. Her work has appeared or is forthcoming in Eastern Iowa Review, Prometheus Dreaming, and unstamatic. She is working on a collection of short stories.