Hillary Fields
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Short Stories

BLEED MAROON

I bleed maroon – do you see? –
from the gut,
and that man – remember that man? –
that man who stank and put the armpit to my shoulder
while the rest of his appendage groped

– I think he caused it. –

My gut was bleeding and I saw the wound
this morning feeling ill.
The flaps of skin had separated to show
layers underneath of filling; insulation sliced.

And even further deep there was a little me
that leaked out and I think – can you imagine? –
he's got it. He's taken it and kept it somewhere I don't know

in a jar perhaps with chemical preserves
diluting the color
but keeping my blood code fresh
so he's got power.

That man, – remember last night? –
who stank and took control with a touch.

Ashes
Bleed Maroon
Eyes and Oubliettes
Firefly
For Dad, on Reflection
Hipsters
Kissing in the Open
Poem Thief
The Articulated Bus
Us at the Cabin
Small Stylist
New Kitty
Umbrella Sellers