Written by Catherine Zickgraf
I know what you are.
I saw you. I know:
you punctured her arm
inside her elbow
and licked
what dripped
down her fingers. And when
her gasoline veins slowed down
to a trickle, and stains
pooled on the bathroom floor,
you left her.
You were bored.
Yes, she was
doomed to explode,
her blue muscle pumping
a volatile load. But
I know what you are.
I saw you. I know:
you are not
her electric glow.
You’re not a light bulb
in the dark.
She is the gas
and you are the spark.
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Catherine Zickgraf is a former northerner - excited about growing her roots into the Georgia clay. One day, she hopes to earn her MFA in Creative Writing.
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