What is it like
to sit the cross
in the cleavage
and have your long hair
tangled in its clasp
your jewelry jangle
camisole strap slipped
off the shoulder
picked up with a
pointed nail
do not tell me

I cross my legs
in privacy
imagine I am the mother
robin, testicles for eggs
too often crushed from
the crick in my back
yet still peck
at my belly
buried in limp curls

What is it like
harmony
having freed the
pith of you
perhaps my prohetess
was killed

Natalie DiFusco (she/her) is an alumni from the Barnard Class of 2025 studying English and Creative Writing. She’s from Long Island and can usually be found among the trees in Riverside Park, listening to music. You can find her on Instagram @nataliedifusco.