By Asia Foland ’25. Poetry.
She crawls out of her bathroom window
and onto her asphalt roof
It’s quiet there, except for her jagged sobs
severing moonlight into onyx strips like
the dark salty ribbons crawling down the cuffs of her
coarse polyester sweater, it’s dirty now and
soon she will unravel her parts as fluorescent light
taunts her return to the hue; the home
She will peel off her polyester
And soften to fresh cotton
Then she will do it all again the next night
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