She’s going into prostitution when she’s 18, she brags. Daddy broke her down like a puzzle, and she leans all her pieces against Wesley whenever he stands still. She writes on his hand, property of, in felt tip pen, which he shows me days later. I avoid her eyes as we pass each other in the ward. She wears midnight like a cape. Her face, a kaleidoscope of shadows. (previously published in The Beautiful Space)
About the Poet:
Jeri Thompson lives and writes in Long Beach, Ca and has her degree from CSULB. She is in numerous publications, including; Chiron Review, The Fox Poetry Box, Carnival Lit Magazine, Silver Birch Press (Silver, Green, and Summer editions), Red Light Lit, and most recently Anti Heroin Chic.
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