1. Rabbit Jaws and Cat Claws
    Rabbit Jaws and Cat Claws
    By Kayley Ulmer
When I see her I see a pale blue tourniquet
or a street littered with confetti littered with
broken promises. When she looks at herself
she sees inebriated breath hanging like smog,
laying claim to the valley of her bones.

In a dark room, she chops off her hair
and waits desperately to be someone else
cuts herself out of pictures and wonders
how long it takes to fall out of love.
Her smile, thick as paste, all encompassing,
Her hate, thick as orange peels.

My friend likes her skin, but likes it better with
a constellation of pockmarks, an inked thing
stretching nebular across the underside of her arm.
It took all of thirty minutes to poke herself a tattoo
and twelve years to forget her estranged father
in the kitchen, carving at his jugular with a dull knife.

Three tongues lapping at the autumnal air,
She is, woman, an open wound looking
like an open palm, unflinching in her resilience
We are echo chambers, speaking to ourselves
and receiving only plasticky screams.