Out of Sight by Hannah Grieco
The monster could have sunk its teeth into the side of its husband’s skull, could have ripped his flesh from the bone, but it’s not a biter.
Recently Published
I no longer harangue every desk nurse at every hospital for a taxonomic breakdown of her bills. I don’t ask for the numbers of the Benadryl, the water cups, the abdominal touches done with gloved hands. I am the most American I’ve ever been—she costs what she costs and I eat it.
The monster could have sunk its teeth into the side of its husband’s skull, could have ripped his flesh from the bone, but it’s not a biter.
I longed to be called Verdean, to find solace beneath the cracked bell in Philadelphia
Every morning, he’d feel as if tiny creatures were wriggling from his cheekbones, his nose scrunching lopsidedly and at random as he blinked himself into consciousness.
Accidentally, I killed a pediatric patient as a hospital nurse.
It’s now that I feel joy for the yellow morning.