MILK
Candle Riggs
The milk has spoiled
In the green refrigerator,
Curdling in its cardboard carton
And stinking up the place.
Our house is lightless:
No power.
Only struggling arms on arms,
Locked cabinets and singed curtains.
But I walk so quiet,
Feet atop these rotting eggs.
I crack their shells,
All over the damn place.
I think he hides them for me,
Just to test the lightness of my step.
Forgive… forget,
I never see it coming back.
Mama I miss being little,
With my virgin hair and pinched dimples,
I miss the ugly little girl I was
Cupping my hands, catching bugs.
He always says I’m so pretty,
Like it changes anything.
Someday, maybe tomorrow or years on
I know
I’ll be as trapped as I always was.
Author Bio
.png)
Candle Riggs is an undergraduate at Pacific University, majoring in art history and French. On the off chance that she isn’t studying or spending time with friends, she's writing. While an avid enjoyer of journal writing and fiction, poetry is her favorite literary form. Riggs has previously had her pieces “Honey Almond Butter” and “Car Stereo” published in Short Vine Journal and hopes to continue sharing her works. She enjoys a broad range of subjects, though she often veers towards observational prose with a confessional tone.