Let the Contested Moments Begin by Carol Dorf
If you meet me by the light of the moon, I promise not to bring stones.
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.
If you meet me by the light of the moon, I promise not to bring stones.
Maybe I’m looking for answers in the wrong place, pleading with a universe that does not hear me instead of listening to the body that homes me.
In her smudged mind, he is still ten. It’s dark. She is calling him home, her voice waving like a flag
I longed to be called Verdean, to find solace beneath the cracked bell in Philadelphia
Accidentally, I killed a pediatric patient as a hospital nurse.