This monster under my bed is a mud woman,
dug from beneath the body keep,
creek water sauldered,
breakfast, lunch, and dinner breasts.
Belly, you’d think I’ve lived there
for how it pulls,
a thousand memories
I can’t quite capture
whisper vespers, suspect,
unsavory
Might savor me,
yet I am fixed,
and will not flee.… Read more ““Box Spring Monster” by Amy Alexander”