You looked at them as though they were about to give you leprosy, ticks, and lice at the same time. As though they carried all the diseases in the world and with every passing second, you risked being contaminated by their stench, their filth, their coarseness. I saw your air of disgust, Isabelle, and it made me feel sorry for them—I hoped they wouldn’t notice you watching them with so much contempt. You waved me over, and with a pleading look, said, “Let’s move? There are still two free seats at the other end of the car.”
Limp on the cliff-edge,
its life breath gone,
her body is welcome carrion
Time was measured counting dog carcasses along the roadside, like a prisoner scratching days from a stone wall, calculating how many chalky white mounds of flesh I’d find concealed in lime between house and city to mark the passing weeks.
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Since horses are gendered as men
fillies also can’t be little girls and
boys will be boys or horses or whatever
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Maeva Hamel lived in a multi-storied heap of ancient brick, isolated by an expanse of floodplain and a screen of willows, at the end of an unmarked lane; and she wasn’t allowed visitors.