On Womanhood

It sometimes works to think of men and
their brutish nature like all of the little
pine needles on the floor after Christmas
and your mother’s chapped hands as
she sweeps them up. There never was
any doubt she would and look – there
sits your father, assembling your brother’s
toy weapon with the precision of a man
who speaks often (and only) of clay
pigeons. You drop the box in the garage
once and every single orange disc shatters,
fills the air with chalky dust. You wear a
purple eye socket for a week. Your mother
says you look awfully tough.

Alissa Nalewajko is a student at Princeton University studying creative writing. She’s from Boise, Idaho, and loves to explore themes of persona and surrealism through her work. She has been previously published in Zeniada.

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