Written by Ellie Onka
A closet
my death of the bride
in the moon’s bed;
I take a drink
cut my hair
a body in the bed
outright as a toothbrush
I blind a summer rose
breaking it as it’s born
la de dah she says
la de die
the life in voice
that seduces me
it was buried in a dream
telling me “fuck you”
I wish I hid too well
in my bone garden, but I sleep-monger
and sleep in a shoebox
of loneliness.
Text © Ellie Onka
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