Mara Lee Grayson – Cross-Country Hydatidiform

Cross-Country Hydatidiform Passing thoughts: Knife first, then turtle shell. Brown cow rubs white face against a fence. Woman, almost middle aged and ill situated there as any oil well in nameless green rurality, both dense and spare: if not lost, she is alone for words among the cluster trees that leave her feather-tongued and prickly […]

Mara Lee Grayson – Call It Coping, Call It What You Will

Call It Coping, Call It What You Will In May I stuffed an hourglass with cotton gauze. June was unremarkable but for its aching. By July, I’d grown scars like cigarette paper, and August made me think of baptism, a ritual I’ve never known. It surprised me to see accordions still smoking on my forearm. […]