Jessica Finch

Jessica Finch is a social worker and therapist who grew up in New Hampshire. After wandering the outdoors of other places, she recently returned there to raise her children. She has previously been published in Touchstone and Smoky Quartz magazines. When she's not sitting with her clients or her children, she can be found writing or brainstorming pie flavors with friends. 

Easy read of the poems in the images above:

Bleeding Through

I go to pick up the dog and upon standing--my period arrives. Probably thirty minutes from a gas station bathroom, there's nothing for it but to bleed into my jeans. So, that's what I do.

It's high school bio all over again, when I arose from a stool after fifty minutes to see my body’s smear of red across a navy seat. Surrounded by tables and teens, I stood so the back of my jeans never faced a boy until class ended, continually turning, a sturdy ballerina wearing my brown corduroy jacket every day of sophomore year, til

I sacrificed it under the wheel of my dad’s car for attempted traction when I got stuck on a muddy back road I wasn't supposed to be on. I can't remember how I got out, of bio or Lover’s Lane, but I remember my dad’s displeasure. Now, I slouch in the driver's seat, hoping to get gravity to help me out here until I get home.

Still, I strip when I get home, spraying blood out of my underwear pantsless in the laundry room. Caught again by a man while I stand with ruined clothes, this time it's my husband. He stops cheerfully to ask,

“To what do I owe this pleasure?”

I Got Roofied at the Monkey House

Neighborhood spot featuring live music, a selection of craft beers, and pizza

CW: roofied

Image description note: text is positioned on page with inconsistent indentures, as if the text is staggering

On the walk home I think

I must be very ill it's hard to

walk

hard to think

I think I must be

drunk

except I had

one drink

except I ate

dinner I think

I need medicine

I don't think

I can walk a half mile

to the pharmacy I think it was

a bad idea

to drive

I can't get out

of the car I sag

on the steering wheel

for forty

minutes

go home

without getting

out

I think

and think

about what happened

I think about me

at seven watermelon overalls

climbing the dirt pile

by the driveway

I'll think

about this

a lot