The stag’s heart spoke (as it passed through my throat) of desire. I’ve held the strangest of strangers. To swallow, the quickest way to close that distance. I’m still so hungry for the tribe of shadows that rubs its fur against my night-time and there are no bars, but bars of trees. Yes, the forest … Continue reading Huntress
by Erin Rodoni →

Mini-Cleopatras of the backyard creek, what faith shakes us from the bone of make-believe? Sometimes lions, we stretch sun-lengthened limbs, laugh fierce bells of lilac. Sometimes meat, we dream the soft darkness of mane pressing us downward as we’re devoured, each invisible portion of flesh. Grasshoppers rise from the bank in silent applause. July parades … Continue reading Of the Tribe of Summer
by Erin Rodoni →