Let My Cruelty Be Your Teacher
her father heaves upon his chosen branch
dishwasher near empty running on low
the woman’s banshee-
as she tosses in bedsheets
trigger his stomach
he disgorges [finally] his stone onto the ground
You senseless! You stiff-necked!
and now, fully awake, the woman
pulls a robe over her nightgown, stalks the yard barefoot. wet
grass curls her toes [ringlets or restraints?] wind works her
skin lurid pink, the crows hop along the fence, louder now,
she kicks stones against rotten boards, chipping the dark wood
his voice a deformity
chirr in the wind
Lisa Grgas is a writer and editor living in Hoboken, NJ. Her work has appeared or is forthcoming in Tin House, The Literary Review, Adroit Journal, K’in, Common Ground, Luna Luna, and elsewhere.