We Don't Dread Night Light

Inside the oven: air,
Pizza crumbs, our mothers' hair.

Confess. The men yell. Confess.

Outside: our younger sisters
Are stripped bare, on fire.

Confess. The men yell. Confess.

Inside: we wait for the oven to explode.
Hush! Hush! We’ll turn to toads.






issue ten