Wet Leaves
We crawl from the wreck into a ditch where the moon’s all afuzz with mold. Shrapnel under my shin. The cold descending. Finally smells like wet leaves and movie popcorn, my sister says, skull open. On first whiff, I get the oiled heat, the smoke, the reeking vomit on my shirt. I don’t get my movie popcorn. My […]





