Poetry from Nicole Miyashiro

Yes/No to Neurosurgery for My Son Hell is not a hideous thing. It washes its face and puts on deodorant. It peers over at the clock, which ticks on as usual, and it slides a fresh shirt over its shampooed head. Hell pours flakes and raisins into a cereal bowl without spilling, pours 2% milk […]

via Poetry from Nicole Miyashiro —

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