Author Archives: Katie Sticca

  Open me. Split me down the seam that stretches just above my collar bones to my navel and down to the seam of my hem. Divide me and you will see how everything is in me—how I made a … Read More

  On a warm spring that gorged on soil, spewed tornadoes like seeds, I painted my nails blue, the color of Alice’s dress, and cycled at night to the older man’s house by the seminary. This man professed to love … Read More

  Because I want to be a wolf; because the earth smells of sinew and green. Because his hair was made of corn dust and cloud and I wanted to weave it around me, trust his sky. Because Eros did … Read More

  February 4, 2020, Lake Michigan   She is dark coat and seed, blonde shock into the wind, the earth rounding a bend of sand to greet her, lift a grassy spray,   splash up, always vanishing in her media … Read More

  Because we didn’t talk about [    ]   Because Mom only said I know what you’re doing            when the shower’s head was left pulsing. Because I knew that meant [    ] was something not to be caught … Read More

  but it’s different than the usual one where I’ve been drinking and remember quite suddenly, that I’m very   very round. Where it’s all confusion and shame until the moment I snap awake sweating. In the new one, the … Read More

  If I dream a bird on the floor sick or injured, maybe able to be gathered in a towel and taken somewhere to somebody—   once day comes and I go off into it, it makes no sense to … Read More

  I know, because I’ve been there and seen it myself, where he dragged each drawer out of his dresser into the backyard and flung his clothes into an empty lot. What was I supposed to do after that? I … Read More

  In your hospital room we fall in love again with the sky, its spring cloudscape to the west, its vast expanse, variation on the theme of nebula.   The small machine that sends vapor—a cloud of mist—to your lungs … Read More

  —after The Botany of Desire   My sweet earthnut, I was monoculture when the last bear of matrimony crunched   down my crabbed heart and shat out the seeds, each a rogue brain, its own assay of autumn   … Read More

  Everyone I know who’s been divorced says on her wedding day, she knew. Which is lucky for me, I’ve always known nothing.   When I ask the Ouija board what is wrong with me, it planchettes wryly, “Conditions good.” … Read More