a black widow spider visits us in august | by alyssa hanna

a shadow falls burgundy
over black, pale skin begging
for burns. i watch you knock
back coronas like water and my
blood thins; i want to be as full
as you. late nights turn to later
mornings and you tell me that us
pretty girls have it the hardest—
that’s why i can’t remember that night.
it’s why i woke up on blue sheets
when mine are beige with blood
on my knees next to a snore
i did not recognize.
i say pain, you say life.
your fingers scoop up a spider
from our kitchen sink and rehome
her on your windowsill, your thin hair
leaving strands for her eight legs
to spin a perfect web, arachnid whispers
of whiskey hangovers pushing
their way through the blackout curtains;
she builds her home around you.
i am not welcome.



alyssa hanna graduated from Purchase College in May 2016 with a degree in Creative Writing and a minor in History. Her poems have appeared in Reed Magazine, The Mid-American Review, The Naugatuck River Review, Cholla Needles, Crack the Spine, Rust + Moth, and was nominated for a 2017 Pushcart Prize. alyssa is an aquarium technician and intends on pursuing her MFA in Creative Writing. She lives in Westchester with her fish and four lizards. follow her @alyssawaking on twitter

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