I would rather say I have dementia than depression, so I could still claim center stage—blinded by an accent light. If I bite the pink whistle yet never blow, it’s my fault. Right? I know you know my grown sons know they were not planned. Every event that’s saved my life has nearly killed me. Honesta, in Latin, is a feminine noun used rarely for Lady. When I drink my iced mocha & type on my Mac Book, I don’t contemplate godliness or the twelve-year-old girl whose gods cannot stop the bleeding or the man lying in prayer before & after he enters her ruined temple (as his God wants), hoping her stench will subside. I’m so afraid that what has infected the world has no smell & leaves no trace or it does but all I can think to say is that I do not want this dress anymore, though I can’t bear to let you wear it either.

LISA FAY COUTLEY is the author of Errata (Southern Illinois University Press, 2015), winner of the Crab Orchard Series in Poetry Open Competition Award, and In the Carnival of Breathing (Black Lawrence Press, 2011), winner of the Black River Chapbook Competition. Her writing has been awarded a fellowship from the NEA and has appeared recently in Crab Orchard Review, Prairie Schooner, Kenyon Review, Gulf Coast, and Poets & Writers. She is an Assistant Professor of Poetry in the Writers’ Workshop at the University of Nebraska at Omaha.