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by Carson Wolfe

A young woman found dead in her home
leaves a note to her pathologist.

The amethyst egg tucked inside my pussy
is essential for strengthening

You are probably thinking, this dead girl
needed a restraining order,
not boundaries.

Fold open my eyelids, stained
with a white shield of energy
I imagined could protect me.

My heart on your metal slab,
a geode, pickaxed open.

Isn’t it pretty?

How I crystalised his fists on my bolted door.

It is said babies only see
in black and white.

Mine nursed from a prism,
her cheeks a kaleidoscope,

she saw me in colour,
bending light,
an illusion,
there, in the hallway.
My scream a muffled tone
like my phone locked in a draw.

Now I’m here, on your table.
A dull lullaby.

You think I saw this coming
but I did try to leave, once,
wrestled from his restraint

on my seatbelt, I stepped out
onto the M60, ran and hid
in a parking garage for hours.

From then on, I had to sit in the back
with the child lock on.

I hope you don’t have children.

If you do, you may suffer
at the thought of my daughter
asking why
I can’t pour milk on her cereal.

If you do,
you may want to resurrect me
with glue.

If you do,
I might go back.

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