My name is Mary.
I lived in a van.

you're wearing a sundress.
we're driving past the sea

she sips sleeps strawberry

Nervous
for jo-lynn

I wake up to my bones, toes,
knees, sore wrists,
unfurling like crackly paper.

My body is an experiment;
I’m thin as an icicle
and twice as frozen in.

in snow i am alpha,
the only one
who marks a trail; paw-
print, claw-print, bite

(i am snide)

hearing my howls
emitted from
the fresh throat of another

come night
i am a whirl of
feral fur, i am treading
underground,
after the scent of blood
below your lip