Entrance

Teri Ke

It catches–its pale & trapped light, somewhere ill, off-axis–her finger a fish hook. Eros: hissing fuse. She pins it like a butterfly. To touch someone, it must die, she says and lays me in the open drawer of her throat, my pulse beating a wallpaper. What remains is the scent of blood between flowers. In this house, there were no children, no pictures or photographs; only shadows, a small box of matches, and a note left on the bed.


Teri is a senior at Bryn Mawr College studying Art History and Computer Science. They like making (breaking) things.