Take a spoonful of sugar for the hiccups
Dash his brains into his mouth
Map the stretch marks on your thighs
Stay grounded by looking up
Inhale the sky
Avoid long speeches
Call your mother, talk about the day you were born
Admit to nothing
Open the window and roll the sun between your fingers
Laugh until it hurts
Until you cry
Measure your comfort in crow miles,
the distance between your life and honour
Wear your jewels to bed
Don’t make or ask for promises
Slice open the underbelly of every cloud
Let it rain
Let them drown.
The Secrets to Survival by Marla Benton (ceramic)
Listen to Hollay Ghadery read “Instructions for Lucretia.”
To the author of the fiction craft book who wrote this prompt for beginners: “Write a short story from the point of view of a young girl being pursued through a dark park by a crazed man with a knife,” fuck off.
To the same author who followed up with “Now rewrite it from the point of view of the man with a knife,” please continue to fuck off.
You dropped “crazed” from the second description. Aaah, he’s just a guy, you know, who could be having a bad day, you know, he needs our understanding, you know, why don’t we look at this from his point of view?
Comparisons are amphibious, odiferous, odalisque.
Right now I have all the words. But you don’t have to accept that. You can revise at your leisure, as soon as I leave the room. I’ll send in a woman with a knife.