by Maria Pascualy

seventeen is a poisoned well
a stuck lock a tongue like a razor
a tree trunk a carved heart I can still touch
chump change but beginner’s luck

PHOTO: Roulette 17.

NOTE FROM THE AUTHOR: I like to write longhand in the morning in a cheap composition book. I do quick drafts then do some editing down. This particular piece speaks to who I was at 17 as I look back, rather than how I saw myself at that age.


ABOUT THE AUTHOR: Maria Pascualy hides out in Tacoma,Washington. She recently had work accepted by the Mulberry Fork Review and Panoplyzine. She works in a museum.

AUTHOR’S PHOTO CAPTION: Selfie snapped in my Honda Fit.