gross in a good way
Writing
Bodhisattva
By Billie CroftI will liken the heavy clouds that pass over my land to grey matter
before my body remembers the practicality of pain
& blood rushes into my bladder.
I’ll swallow a scream, or
inheritance
By Elliot DelSignorei have my father’s temper, my father’s eyes.
i keep my bloody birthrights in a clear glass jar.
all the things i’ve laid claim to with my mother’s fingers;
long, pale, five on each hand, like real people have.