– fire. The shot whistles through the air, a bullet
scorned. In the distance, a lone bulb, swallowing
fistsfuls of darkness. No, light. No, that hazy smear.
Everything tastes like citrus. Like bile. Like loving
a man with two left feet. But that was a whole lifetime
ago. You’re a new person, now. Supposedly.
You’ve never been able to parse lie from truth.
You are hundreds of miles underground. Thousands,
even. You could die here, sitting in a pool of your own
piss. Marinating in your own fat. You could die here
& no one would ever know. Not your father, your
mother, your therapist. The man you killed in a dream.
But that’s the point, isn’t it? Never in your life have you
been this deniable. The gun swells, gorged on blood.
A product of your own imagination, but in your defense,
things grow in the dark. Strange, unholy things.
They should not have planted you so deep
if they had no plan for eradication.
By Brianna Albers
Brianna Albers is a poet, writer, and storyteller, located in the Minneapolis suburbs. In 2016, she founded Monstering, a magazine for disabled women and nonbinary people; she currently serves as the Editor-in-Chief. A Best of the Net nominee, her work can be found in Guernica Magazine, Word Riot, and Winter Tangerine Review, among others. Her début chapbook, Why I’m Not Where You Are, was a finalist in Where Are You Press’ “Where Are You Poet” contest; it was published in 2016 via Words Dance Publishing. She can be found at briannahopealbers.com.