Postcards from Denton County

 

by Erin Slaughter

If you've caught yourself gazing wistfully out a car window, actor in your own quiet being. If you pass through a flock of tourists and hear the rustle of strange wounds. If you notice something different in how the words curl, like a mouth full of bees. If you pull needle-bones from the torso of a salmon, tell yourself you'll only eat what you can bear the weight of killing. If the milkweed sprouting in your bosom curdles in half-song. I woke from a nap in the sun to see the ethereal Cinematographer turned Pornographer. And had conjured new white frames for his glasses. I waited there until sunset for his fingers to carve me a mouth. I am trying to learn about tenderness.