in the news today,

her lungs brimming

with water. Root

of a bloated blossom, 

purple and untethered.


Death is awfully poetic, 

I think, but isn’t death

what I wished for myself 

after the first bloom

like mushrooms

between my thighs?

Just a little more

arsenic in a well

already poisoned.


My mother always said

women are thresholds,

but I keep calling

down into that cellar-dark, 

hoping something will answer.


Author Bio:

Taylor Hamann Los is an MFA student at Lindenwood University. Her poetry has appeared or is forthcoming in Moist Poetry Journal, CLOVES Literary, and Split Rock Review, among others. She lives with her husband and two cats in Wisconsin. You can find her on Twitter (@taylorhamannlos) or at taylorhamannlos.wordpress.com.