by Alice Xu
The sun burns cold in October
& the cloth curved between my thighs
catches rain. Beneath my palm: Rosalie’s
cross. Bible once beneath. My body,
spread out on sapped autumn oak.
The cusp of middle-aged rust, rusting
like last year’s sycamore leaves.
I dream of Louis rubbing his neck
& churchyards emptying
their stomachs as the sun
waits for a funeral.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR:
Alice Xu is a high school senior who adores Jane Austen and her novels. She currently serves as a Co-Editor in Chief for her high school’s literary magazine, a Genre Editor for Polyphony H.S., and an Editorial Intern for The Blueshift Journal. Her work has appeared or is forthcoming in Textploit, Phosphene Literary Journal, The Riveter Review, and elsewhere.
Photographs by Hana Tyszka
Illustration by Eric Anaya