My third degree skin

By Elisabeth Horan


Wind is like you

it touches me almost – as


The day faints away,

the smell


Of death persistent

in my nose


Wipe the chemical bath

across her brow


Crunchy like teeth

floating lose o’er


the tongue, deflated:

a pickle, Miraculously


Young, in the brine of life –

Of the sea— washing away


this opulent necropsy

One, two, three,


reach in the bowl;

Be plucky with the swirl–


Think milk, not grapes,

Taste the curd – not the tannin


Grab it. Get it. Then

send it on


The wind—let me feel

your fingers upon


My guilty—

third degree skin.


Elisabeth Horan is from Vermont, advocating for animals, children and those suffering alone and in pain – especially those ostracised by disability and mental illness. She is Editor in Chief at Animal Heart Press, and Co-Editor at Ice Floe Press. She has several chaps and collections out this year including Bad Mommy / Stay Mommy at Fly on the Wall Press, Odd list Odd house Odd me at Twist It Press, Was It R*pe, from Rhythm and Bones Press, and Just to the Right of the Stove, with Hedgehog Poetry Press. She is a poetry mentor and proud momma to Peter and Thomas.

Follow her @ehoranpoet  &

Elisabeth’s new poetry collection will be released by us here at Cephalopress in September. Stay tuned for more of her work and updates on the upcoming publication.

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