katie rose pipkin

are you here?

strange night and stranger still to get. there is a meteor shower peaking, now, perseids, and a full moon to mirror the sun and drown them in light. the fighting glories of the heaven- not often the full moon is a villain, in my theology. home again, with the key, pausing at the door, us, certain that our home was occupied, creaking open slowly. certain that someone was inside, quiet. I feel them in the spaces I am, tonight, on my bed, in my kitchen, this other. the story of baba yaga. the story of the wolf. chairs knocked over in the backyard, porcelain on the ground. like a wind, or a rage.

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