- By Emily Wojcik
The angel of the black bowl sets it on the table.
The girl sits down. She will not eat.
She wears a dress the color of her mother’s hunger.
She does not believe in breakfast, dreams
the eggs’ songs dead in their shells. —from “Morning,” by Sally Rosen Kindred, in Volume 59, Issue 3, Fall 2018
Tell us about one of the first pieces you wrote.
“An Attic of Haunts,” a moody, wet...