All mouth, she stole infants and cattle, wanting pulled thigh, the fat that grills up yellow, marrow, the lungs—pale yellow of a strawflower. All mouth, she took earth, sucking stamen and ship mast. She took one gulp of the sea, brought the mountains; another, the islands rushed in. Another, the seabed would be dry. Need is never safe in the mouth.
Published in Cider Press Review, Volume 17, Issue 4.
See all items about Tara Mae Mulroy