genesisFall2016.pdf


genesis fall 2016  11

His calloused hands carved my bed into a warm wooden bowl, 
where our porcelain bodies rested delicately like eggs.

By spring the frost melted and his pocket change puddled
on my nightstand. Morning was rich with the scent of Parliaments

and the gasps of matches scraping brick. He was rough,
like clay and shale; I burned slowly for him.

Like Clay and Shale
Rachel Leonard