Balm

You wore her on your mouth like a coin-operated ride. The public bathroom played the wheezing carny instead of me.

©J Bradley, 2010

Mush

Her thumb print gouges the smile out of his children, their mother, before drowning them on the nightstand.

©J Bradley, 2010

Operator

Sam lays beneath her like a bridge, his neck a tollbooth collecting her teeth. On her wedding day, she remembers the oil spill of his name.

©J Bradley, 2010

Closure

“You never savored me like fine wine,” she said. “I can’t enjoy something so watered down and passed around”, I replied, three weeks later.

©J Bradley, 2010

Lunar Phases

She doesn’t regret choices made for her science career, but as she
releases hatchlings she wonders again what kids would have been like.

©S. Kay , 2010