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The Winter Shed photo

Tight coils come
up floating in
my husband’s peppermint
tea. I regret
stealing the sip.
A curl glides
off the corrugated
roof of my
mouth and hooks
onto an incisor.
They fluff all
over our couch,
wedge between the
thread count of
our sheets, gnarl
in the rug
so good the
damn vacuum refuses
to suck. They
set up colonies
inside the bathtub
drain, until I
have to unscrew
the lid, detangle
the gunk, barehanded,
slicking my tips
with coagulated skin
flakes and soap
runoff, the tufts
catching the serrated
lip of my
gnawed up fingernails.



image: Laura Gill