Sealey's review of Gathering of Matter/A Matter of Gathering in this issue
uncle urged his first niece.
father frenched his only child,
tongues tickled loose teeth or
empty spaces where they would grow.
do you know how?
want to learn?
no, whimpered everygirl.
everygirl had a story:
obscure wanton musings,
pieces of her misplaced in
mouths of blood.
eight years old,
(and grandmother said, in a visceral dream)
she'd come down stairs for milk.
first kisses no longer pink nor pretty.
lips delicately defiled.
her secret foretold:
everyman's mouth tasted relatively the same, while
half-empty glasses of milk curdled.