by Crystal Vega-Huerta
the look of her, mouth twisted
down at the corners, drooping like
a flower gone without water.
it was taken years ago - at a party,
too much ego trapped in the clear line
of her throat.
the day before she opened the
length of her arm with a paring knife
her mother left sticky with apple.
the blood (a frothing sea of it) must be
there, you can see the waves coming
in behind the slope of her shoulders.
the thumbprint smears make her eyes
shadowed caves, poring over one moment
where her bones delineated themselves.
if you look long enough you can
see the whites of her eyes, like an
animal caught in a snare.
if you look long enough her mouth
reflects back the desperation in
hot summer days where
she was captured, drawn and quartered
into a reflection that would
last a lifetime.