tough-talking hard-living girl from upstate. said fuck-you to the man in every way she could, except actually fucking him. i think she tried to hide from her own softness. but i found it, and the earth wobbled for a while.
I'm a cook. And I write, sometimes about food, mostly poems. I make stuff. I get lost. I'm worried about vanishing bees, melting icecaps, the decrease of civility in the world, seedless watermelons, and whether there will be enough time for me to get it all right.
1 comment:
How do you do that? As usual, killer last line.
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