HEATHER PALMER


Heather Palmer holds a Masters of Fine Arts in Writing from
the School of the Art Institute of Chicago and has current or
forthcoming work in Willows Wept Review, Lamination Colony,
Radioactive Moat, Omphalos 8, elimae, Storyglossia, Everyday Genius,
Spork Magazine and more. Her book works include Charlie's
Train
(the2ndhand) and the forthcoming novel Complements: of Us
(Spork Press). She writes and works in Chicago, but hails from
Pennsylvania. Find her at fictionsandthelike.blogspot.com.






to end a day a seamstress
returns a knock on the door of
the father who with the girl
wrapped in silk cashmere wool
cotton burlap nylon opens to
seamstress bundled hands with
outstretched measuring tape to
measure around the girl the
seamstress pokes and prods
and turns and kneels and pulls
and pits every nook of and
looks from a step back
she takes a step back to say to the
father soon the clothes grow big
for the girl and the father
bowed head he says to the girl
not the seamstress
this the other
something I so wanted to
save you






You scavenger you hunger
legged combustion you
slurped stomach you retracted
body you fascicle structure you
algal film you trick to mussels
endless adductor sucking tube
oral hole of two-stomached-
tank
You, ochre star
over prey drop
stomach a tug-for-food war






In the room of the girl thrown
across her floor cashmere
burlap wool silk nylon
covering tea-thin movements
overalls under wrap warps a
pain back-down on bed a
legspread starfish over water
she rests from growth breaks
her father gives

on a stool from which he tells
the story of the tree up from
the ground

the girl yells down

a giant hole empties into me,
father. When should I
swallow?






A family of rays fishes sharks
barbed underside two groves
to venom electroreceptors
shell crushing plates

Eyes on top mouth of bottom
no teeth but rocks crowd
ocean floor crushes every
potential prey, to eat
but not to see eaten, stinger



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