Garrin Riggin2

Garrin Riggin

News From The City

In her fire-cracker

dress, she pressed the

stamp into the liquid wax.

A dove in ultramarine blue.

Despite her small school manners,

her movements were oblong,

infantile, like her combination

of saddle shoes and pearls.

Her speech, dutiful and molded

with the contours of her class,

like her coveted modern body.

Within her voice, a dangerous

string. A volatile hint of the

wobbly, bristling in the high

range and the low.

She locked the door. You

could hear it in her voice,

we should have known.

next