Blight
I’ve inherited famine.
Taste, a gluttony: my mirrored crawl.
The women of my line dwell in fractions,
mining the house with coffee cups
three-quarters empty, an inch
calcifying in the pot. Not on…
Blight
I’ve inherited famine.
Taste, a gluttony: my mirrored crawl.
The women of my line dwell in fractions,
mining the house with coffee cups
three-quarters empty, an inch
calcifying in the pot. Not on…
Rachel Cusk photo courtesy the author.
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