If I cease to think, I think, I can feel my way to nothing, no body. Out of this aspirated knot, out of my skin, shed my body. Imagine instead I’m candlelit from within. This is what’s left of girlhood. OK. Wondrous dirty cities, moonless frozen nights, from inside my body. The thirty-one segments of […]
Mary Paulson
Mary Paulson recently moved from New York City to Naples, Florida. Her poems have appeared in Slow Trains,Mainstreet Rag, and Painted Bride Quarterly, among others.