Going Woodo1 min read

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Day 409
They told me
When they came for me
The man-
His thumb, I bit it off
He needed twenty-four stitches.
Imagine that.

Day 387
My hands are calloused
And senseless
I run on all fleet fours as I
Chase down deer
(the fawns are slower
and soft
and their tiny spines
so easily)

Day 211
When I bleed
I lick the crimson
With pink tongue
So the wolves cannot find me

Day 159
I am untraceable
Among black knotty trunks
Thick like- what’s the word?
I have (been) forgotten

Day 134
The first time I snapped a
Rib-bone and drank the sweet marrow
I remembered my mother’s gazpacho soup
Warm and salty
By the second time
I had forgotten

Day 91
Mountains in the deep dark of the night
Hum like contented babies
The thought chases itself across my mind as I shit in a stream

Day 56
The tips of my highlights have disappeared
Into the mat of my hair, caked with pine sap and mud

Day 23
I haven’t dreamed of people in eight days

Day 1
Something is greening in the air
High and strong
It twitches at my nose
At my brain
Regretfully, I shut down my computer
And begin to

Colleen Kimsey

Colleen Kimsey

Colleen Kimsey is attending a private, all-women’s college, studying the spread of epidemics and wondering how the hell she got here.
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