Author Archives: Katie Sticca

  She says: Dangerous for there not to be grass, dangerous for there to be. Every little fairy alive and wiring up. A garbage pull tab is as important as dumb blooms, as lush. Every little last “hey girl” selling … Read More

  The day begins as it always does: with birth control & black coffee. & you have curtains now, so you pull them apart like pages or legs or what have you & your partner doesn’t wake up to the … Read More

  it is helpful to imagine you’re in the woods at night / you have to make it / through that’s all / feel your way from tree to tree / upon hearing the crack / of a twig it … Read More

  I’m asked to keep a secret and I do until I don’t. Until he trusts   me to ration out his pills and when I forget fever sweats hold him as a lover   does when they know you’re … Read More

  He seems lost, although he’s four-square on the trail, maybe an abandoned, lonely male, a yearling whose mother kicked him out to give her time for this spring’s fawns. If you read up   on white-tailed deer, you’ll find … Read More

  While I’m driving I like to fantasize about the people I love   dying in tragic and gruesome ways.   My brother slips off a cliff hiking and they have to identify him   by his teeth.   My … Read More

  One, shadow-faced, gazes at the food, mouthpiece fallen from his slice-of-life lips. Three silver charms   dangle à la beads of sweat from his hat. It’s hot as a barn in the hall. Any musician knows what that’s like. … Read More

  After a long time staring into the cliffs you finally said, I think that when a stone looks at Medusa it just becomes more comfortable in its own body. We laughed like birds. We showed each other our bones, … Read More

  I dreamed of you last night, a dream you, an almost you. We were driving in that old blue car I used to have, except that it was green in the dream, and not as old. We parked at … Read More

  New Year’s Day and the big reeds bowing over the stream’s headlong, white churn, only one back-flowing current glazing and glazing a black smooth stone, and you said This year it will be fifty years. Fuck years. Fuck tick … Read More

  Suddenly it was a storm and insects / a pet cage tumbling in the rain.   One morning they rose to find the lobster / had sheared away the legs of all the tiny frogs.   The street out … Read More

  In the afternoons, a girl and a woman together below a crepe of pecan trees / corniced rises, the city like a box of mud around them / seething concrete a fillip for turning / the pleasure of the … Read More