The field curdles
Claudia Cortese
in June heat: Lucy plucks her leg hair with tweezers: floats her hairless body through those rotting distances: though Lucy doesn’t see: an unnamed girl: who wants to be all horse: gallops past her, finds a clearing and pulls her skirt over her head: dreams in her dark box of barns on fire: siren-bright: their shrieking holes: and I perch on a sycamore’s highest branch: watch girlhood’s arsons.