Victoria Nessen and Amy Souza

Victoria Nessen

Wound Pocket
By Amy Souza
Inspiration piece

Days shrunk like desiccated fruit, a corn husk doll from seventh grade. For the bicentennial my mother dressed me in full-on prairie, complete with handmade bonnet and apron. As if I could get less cool. In the car headed 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. This pocket’s overflowing. I forget nothing.

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