Splinter Girl

For years, there had been talk 
of a new gymnasium and cafeteria. 
Of gleaming steel fixtures,

linoleum un-scuffed. Of bloody, brewing  
fistfights, of the boys we’d one day marry. 

In a schoolyard sliver, 
talk of babies pulled 
from there. 

Of Annie’s deadly blue-tipped nails, state
of permanent detention.

I say Annie in the now. I swipe 
at my weary eyes, prod 
the bulbs. Inhale the sharp factory scent 

of a rubber kickball, fresh. 
Taste pineapple chunks in syrup, chocolate milk. 

Oh, Annie.
Always Annie. 
How she cut the single-file lines 

like butter, how she walked around 
so slick and dark. 

Her parents hire men
to dig up the backyard like rodents 
for a swimming pool, 

I behold the silhouette of her:
Annie’s sequined one-piece, breasts 

from certain angles. 
Where song breaks
and stereo gurgles,

sun beats down. 
I am afraid 

of the deepwater. 
She says she’ll push me in 
when I’m not looking 

so that I learn to swim,
though she never does.

Annie is cruel, 
but I know she cries alone
to her supper. Sogs the bread.

It’s tears that give her eyes 
their nightmare glitter 

in the hallways, in the swimming pool 
at dusk. Annie’s eyes are planets
that I orbit, like debris. 

Hair, a fur wrap. Mink stole
with chemical streaks 

like sunlight too harsh. 
Blood-plump Annie, 
Annie Clotted Cream. 

Popping bubbles 
with her sugar teeth.

Who glides, 
treadmill in the living room. 
Casting spells. 

Says cunt 
and carbohydrate 

in Language Arts. Blurs her eyes
at sleepover. Who warns 
I’ll shut you in that closet.

Closet is a sucking space. 
I splinter. 

I say
It was Annie. 
Annie did it. 

Annie split 
the universe in half.

Content Warning: eating disorders, vomiting

Diagnostic

—female undergraduate—

still lurches from the Tilt-a-whirl.
Scrambler. The Ohio State Fair. Her first taste
of cotton candy. How she bit
off a thick tuft, craving the chew,
but the pink froth dissolved
on her tongue and her baby teeth
clattered
against one another.
In the end,
there was nothing

to swallow.
She’s been ravenous ever since.

—impairment—student—

drove around and around the block
last night, spooning
cherry pudding
into the yawn of her mouth.
It tasted like metal.
Everything she stuffs
into her mouth these days
tastes like metal.

—please extend—

The real problem
is that ink bubbles
and blisters, burns steaming holes
through pages
and the alphabet contorts.
She ends up seeing words
like fetal and hyperspace.

—treatment—behavior—

She found a butter knife
stuck to her pillow.

—please excuse—

A vortex opened
inside the toilet. Other people
got sucked in.

—nervosa—

She’s floating. She feels
like an angel.

Content Warning: self-harm, depression, substance abuse

Sparkler

In summer/loaded/static eyes/the bedsheets splayed like drunken ghosts/no signal/my broken
down again ass/queen of rust/smoking Camels out back/on the 4 th of July/lawns are sun-
bleached/shorn/the smell of struck flint/even inside/barefoot neighbor girl/emitting
sparks/orange flecks in the hot gloom/I wiggle my toes/without feeling/pick a blister/hit blood/&
lean into the ache, like a dull blade/Xanax/Camels/fireworks/pop/I watch the shadows grow
long/when the sun sets we skinny-dip/in the gunpowder haze/Laura. 3 boys. me/stripping with
downcast eyes/in the stale night air/red and yellow sparks through the trees/I slip underwater/a
moonlit ruin/my body/vacant/feral/throb of pool jets/chlorine burn/I want the boys to look but
not see/facedown/I play weightless/I do the dead man’s float