by Elizabeth Powell | Apr 10, 2018 | Poetry
Classroom Behavior 1 I am listening to the conversation ping-pong across the room, the professor can’t shut it down. The women sink in their seats as the men discuss whether or not feminism is real. The spaces in between the men’s voices leave no...
by Elizabeth Powell | Apr 4, 2018 | Poetry
A sickening twist in the depth of the gut Confirmed my overall impression The smell, that look, and his sallow disorder Such a nasty, diseased obsession He’s a little bit off, almost all the time And oblivious to the right way I’m consumed by...
by Elizabeth Powell | Mar 29, 2018 | Poetry
The Beast At Your Side There was a time when I treasured being alone vaguely dreamed of giving birth in a den to children someday. I could have stayed hidden in that den forever living off of rotting carrion and cold ramen. I treasured my own scent...
by Elizabeth Powell | Mar 22, 2018 | Poetry
Scream What takes the form but can’t hold it, the teeth of a scream. Have you ever really screamed? The cracking of lines in the face Scream to make hairline clefts in block of blood. Frozen red fluid solid. How many times can I say it? Red fluid...
by Elizabeth Powell | Jun 30, 2017 | Poetry
A clock and a crucifix dangle from nails in my cell at Saint Luke’s hospital. The clock twitches, its tic a telltale sign: Things will not be all right. I’ll be stuck like the second hand, jittering between one second and the next. Is it the battery? Is it the...
