from "i sew my prey"

by Amina Cain

I sit, feeling as if the air is a part of my body. I sit in front of a fire, blazing and warm. Whose hands die when they sit in front of a fire? It snows and the snow covers a wire. Who looks at a wire?

Today I walked around with bits of paper in my pockets. I took each bit out and each bit was a wolf. Something sacred happened; the paper turned into wolves. I am writing to you and to someone in prison, unless you think you’re in prison too.

Something jumps at a wall. Mud bubbles up like something I have sewn. I sew a wing. I sew my prey. Your whole life flashes in front of me, but what do I know about your life? Outside there is nothing, and the nothingness never stops. Inside there is nothingness too.

[continues in TrenchArt: Tracer, become a member and read more]

I Go To Some Hollow, stories by Amina Cain, is forthcoming from Les Figues Press.