This house. This body.

Less than. Mouth
a minus.
Grandmother crosses herself out.
Grandfather underlines himself.
My blood, I write.
My double nothings.
This bodyhouse.
Melting into the walls
one tense vertebrae
at a time. And, now,
a desire for din.
Not speech, but bark.
My double Os.
My moon-belly howl.

℘

Katie Quarles received her B.A. in Creative Writing from the University of California, Santa Cruz. Her work has appeared in numerous journals including The King’s English, Apocryphal Text, Interrupture, Poetry Now, and The Avalon Literary Review. She lives and writes in Rocklin, California.