I’ve already let him walk across the shallow water of my bedroom, memorize the psalms in my skull. We are married eight months. I am scared to call him husband. Holding cell, steel mesh or concrete. Even the smallest stones turned to bread. We staple together bank statements, tax returns, my hair… [Read More]
Sarah Janczak has new poems in or forthcoming from Fjords, Tinderbox Poetry, and The Los Angeles Review. She lives in Austin, Texas.