I’m the one to hollow the pumpkin and carve a face. The doorbell rings again. You adore the children tonight in their costumes. A
That night going the long way, round the back-roads with the real gardens and the old people’s home and the footpaths twisted like broken
The first year I lived in Florida, a woman told me, nothing dies here but the people. The first night of the hurricane, my
I. Month five: you carry a peach inside you. The fetus covers itself in sparse fur. You may or may not birth a child