6.15 / 50

Noctilucent Sheen

Laura Esckelson

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Our first howl signifies the loss of our only known home. We learn breath, the boundaries of flesh against flesh, unlearn the rumbling rushes of our mothers’ bodies. Our genome is the afterglow of fireflies in the brush, a rock paused on a slope, a child pushing to get out.

Laura Esckelson lives in Michigan. Her writing has appeared in Quick Fiction, Quarter After Eight, Flashquake, Paragraph, Many Mountains Moving, Beloit Poetry Journal, and Chelsea.