TO THE WOMAN WHO PICKS THROUGH THE ASHRAYS FOR CIGARETTE BUTTS by Chelsea Eckert

smoke buds, flexes, conceals her body,
her hands especially, with the two middle
fingers the same length, the fingers her
brother said made her a werewolf

 
she imagines re-creation at the beckoning
of the eye of god, the moon the floodlight
to disappearing breasts, dog hips, the
pipe-legs of a beast (women are never beasts)

 
and she asks herself did you light up
today, are you bright and monstrous and
acrid, or are you a phantom inside girlish
bones?

 


Chelsea Eckert will be attending UNC Greensboro for her MFA in creative writing in the fall of 2015. Her fiction and poetry, both literary and genre, have appeared or will appear in over twenty print and online venues. Stalk her like a hungry catamount at http://chelseaeckert.me.