I quiver like the white moth I found perched on my bedroom wall. Bad news flutters in, in traces it seems. First an omen, then an ache, then a fever in time. I lay awake in the dark and I find that I quiver from imagined states and doomed possibilities. He came home with a paper. And he stood at the door. Just a paper! To proclaim! That something’s not right! I speculate in bed sheets and I dream nights before that it’s ugly or nasty or sinister too. It’s that spot.

And gold drips through fingertips —coagulated sunlight— soft globs of me spilling out everywhere.

I’ve been standing at the threshold of things, hesitating and ruminating, wondering if the place I’m going is better than the place I’ve been, wondering listlessly if I’m at the edge of me. I push ahead only to fall behind again.

I want to bruise you like fruit, plump and ripe. I want to use you and abuse you. I want to chew on you, blood vessels bursting like raspberries, malice contorting my mouth like a bright red smear. I want you to squirm like an antelope might, thrashing, kicking, fighting until the end. And I want to drag you down and drag you under into my darkest place.

I’m neither here nor there. I feel instead. I feel that I’m far off like stars and cool night air passing through the window, breathing in and slipping out again, a hushed love affair with an imagined state, the feeling of freedom, the freedom of flight. I’m not a woman but a dream instead and I feel…

In New York City, Summer comes early. As the sun comes out on early May mornings so do tourists, swarming the streets of Manhattan like flies on an apple core. Sunlight floods the streets from East to West and the concrete radiates like a grill. Sticky bodies fill the hazy streets, darting around cars and garbage piles, and the city becomes infectious with dripping hot-tempered New Yorkers pushing through crowds to get inside to a crisp air conditioned room somewhere. One

This black night, which envelops me—I cling to the shroud So that I may remain Awhile longer Unexposed Before pale blue light swells Through my window And announces to me that I am delivered prematurely To what seems to be The artificial glow of the incubation, Newborn Fragile and pallid I remain unaware of the life which looks on before me At dawn, my breath hovers like a kiss To awaken in me The silent scream, which declares To you, my world, That I am before you Awake and

You kissed me at the drive-in, all coarse and unrefined. Your rough hands in my fine blonde hair, smoothing out the crook of my arm...

PART 1: I’m not sure I’m the obvious choice. I’m not bold or powerful. My brothers were always more forceful than me. My sister was always more steady than me. I have small bones and a fainting reflex. Whenever I see blood I faint. I was shy at first. I took long to first start speaking and when I did I spoke. In. Broken. Sentences. For. Quite. A. While. I felt afraid of scary things or ugly things like spiders or darkness, needed help with checking pockets and shoes