by Kirsten Clodfelter | Jan 8, 2014
I was eight years old the afternoon my stepdaddy cut my face. In my mind, already too old for saying stepdaddy, but he liked the way it sounded—that it made clear who was in charge. We were sitting at the kitchen table in my mom’s bungalow, my three-quarter-time...
by Kirsten Clodfelter | Dec 30, 2013
I. The thought of you: Wild. Spreads and inhabits. In my mind, as you are in our shared days, uncontained. You heat through each neuron, the six letters of your name in lights. The fragile dendrites spark electric, every branch flooded with your current. Saturation as...
