It all feels so artificial and soulless,
the empty park, my grandson’s empty
bedroom in my house. The everything in me
spent trying to save my daughter,
who only wants to dig her stepmother’s
filthy talons into my flesh, rip me
to shreds, and pick through the pockets
of my carcass for loose change
to blow on booze.
About the Creator
Harper Lewis
I'm a weirdo nerd who’s extremely subversive. I like rocks, incense, and all kinds of witchy stuff. Intrusive rhyme bothers me.
I’m known as Dena Brown to the revenuers and pollsters.
MA English literature, College of Charleston
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