Chipped wooden floor, ghost bulb,
waterlogged ceiling. Ergo: a story

Brianna Colburn


He had hands like butterflies.
(any sort of tray, oh how beautiful. Fallout. Extend down.
How beautiful, with different hair this time.

How many bodies before?


Lots of distance in a tiny place. Crumble hands into a little biscuit shape, waiting. We want to lie on the bed in matching 'C' shapes, fallout shelters; pillar candles, blink the lights on and off.


What they don't.


Each thing gets packed; a boot, a ribbon, a scrap of cloth. "Portrait of a girl in glass," the party hanger-oners, the lace in her hand, the hummingbird sets out [city isn't the same


Wish we could sleep in the snow.