By Colleen Kimsey

Day 409

They told me

When they came for me

The man-

His thumb, I bit it off

He needed twenty-four stitches.

Imagine that.


Day 387

My hands are calloused

And senseless

I run on all fleet fours as I

Chase down deer

(the fawns are slower

and soft

and their tiny spines


so easily)


Day 211

When I bleed

I lick the crimson

With pink tongue

So the wolves cannot find me


Day 159

I am untraceable

Among black knotty trunks

Thick like- what’s the word?

I have (been) forgotten


Day 134

The first time I snapped a

Rib-bone and drank the sweet marrow

I remembered my mother’s gazpacho soup

Warm and salty

By the second time

I had forgotten


Day 91

Mountains in the deep dark of the night

Hum like contented babies

The thought chases itself across my mind as I shit in a stream


Day 56

The tips of my highlights have disappeared

Into the mat of my hair, caked with pine sap and mud


Day 23

I haven’t dreamed of people in eight days


Day 1

Something is greening in the air

High and strong

It twitches at my nose

At my brain

Regretfully, I shut down my computer

And begin to


Colleen Kimsey is attending a private, all-women’s college, studying the spread of epidemics and wondering how the hell she got here.

Leave a Reply

Your email address will not be published. Required fields are marked *