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"Nevermore" by Cherry Earnshaw



The cut lines my wrist like a

port-wine stain; turning into

bluets with the warring sun.

The kitchen tile clings to my

skin with the force of a thousand men.

I spread my legs like butter for the officer

who feeds me pancakes at 5am to keep me

from coding.

He fans my skirt out; peacocking, if you will.

A broken tooth is my bargaining chip.

Daddy says I mustn’t talk to strangers,

except for those he brings to my bedroom door.

I find their fingernails, upturned, in my cereal,

and I tell Daddy nevermore.



Cherry Earnshaw is a writer who lives underground.

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