Julianna Baggott

  In a few days, a new bathing costume will arrive by post. Auguste Rodin—I’ve told the illustrious bull to buy me one at the Bon Marche.          Imagine him—dusted white— wooly and dazed as a b [...]

  I have been humbled, this hunching to the piecemeal stitches of a skull not passing through but rising from my own seam. What shocks—the wet moss of black hair. I can hear the nursemaid hushing a mouth that rings out.    &nbs [...]

       Hoarding is my only comfort. It builds,      and rocks are rocks. It builds and your brow, Sister, is a brow.             &nb [...]

Today in solitary, stripped-down, he bashed his head          against the cell wall until there was a risen welt and blood. The guard gave him an ice pack; once alone, he tore it open           and drank the thick blue liqu [...]

Our house tilted forward, an errant tooth in the row, because my heavy mother, the neighbors joked, sat nose-pressed to the window, staring out at the street, the children with broomstick handles and halved tennis balls, and, perhaps, into the d [...]