Tag Archives: Krysta Lee Frost

Defense Mechanism

When the day comes and I sever the hands before they slip,                                     before I blade you out clean                                     and bathe away the cut, allow me one thing: let me keep this image of you,                                     back hinged, ribboning                                     smoke out my … Continue reading

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Winter, 1999

Shade from the light             skin carries, water                         rivering curves a shiver down my spine             bowing like an instrument                         unplayed and mama rubbing lotion             between her palms                         imitates summer the blanket I spread             for protection                         where father sits to tell me … Continue reading

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The Dinner Table

After a while I forget how to speak with my hands. Years since. I eat with spoon and fork at the table, sometimes on the floor. Go through glasses of water just to feel full again. I stain the table … Continue reading

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