By Emma Truong
in between the lines
you wrestle courage out of thin air -
dream of the Dog -
dream of your blood still sweet on his chin -
dream of being beloved,
be it dogged, death-ridden
like the only life that loves you.
you who love the voice of the undead
loves not a thing that is tender and small.
the air - your familiar’s sickly-ironed breath:
it is not your fault, it is
the flesh of your courage spun from stirred heartache in slumber
wrapped around your neck, writhing out the words:
“Go, touch his life.”
Emma Truong is a student at Northwestern University. She likes to think, read, and write about queer literature, speculative fiction, beautiful words, and the messy, gory creatures that inhabit them. She lives in Evanston, Illinois with her dog Linton.
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