Victoria Nessen and Amy Souza

Victoria Nessen

Wound Pocket
By Amy Souza
Inspiration piece

Days shrunken like desiccated fruit. A corn husk doll from seventh grade. For the bicentennial my mother dressed me in full-on prairie, handmade bonnet, apron, and all. As if I could get less cool. In the car on the way to the coast he said, You’re not just ungrateful, you appreciate nothing. Later, I asked him over for dinner. Maybe, he said, but I’ve got a cold and anyway I should do some work. Now he keeps his curtains drawn and only leaves by the back door. My pocket’s overflowing. I forget nothing.

Note: All of the art, writing, and music on this site belongs to the person who created it. Copying or republishing anything you see here without express and written permission from the author or artist is strictly prohibited.


Post a Comment

Your email is never published nor shared. Required fields are marked *


You may use these HTML tags and attributes: <a href="" title=""> <abbr title=""> <acronym title=""> <b> <blockquote cite=""> <cite> <code> <del datetime=""> <em> <i> <q cite=""> <s> <strike> <strong>