Bailey Merlin
Autotomy
I’m passions paled away ashy, waiting for a word to flutter, hinging on this fingernail, and that one scratching out phrases in Sanskrit––working out how to form all the words again after punishment removed my hands, tongue, frontal lobe. My saving grace is singular: lizard skin ready to repair trauma left in the wake of much needed mutilation.
bam
Striped I fell from a dock in the summer, split my hand open like a ripened fig, blood drip-dropping to ruddy the waves while I gulped down salty red, I swam to shore, hand raised above my head, looki
This year has already been so busy. Marriage. Grad School. Research Project. Promotion. And now, at last, I can put my dream on that list: Novel Publication. That’s right, ladies and gentlethems, my n
With school in full swing, creative writing has taken a back seat outside class. However, readings about illness narratives have translated into some interesting exercises. In honoring this blog, I wa