a few southern gothic sensory details:
- the ceramic box on the mantle holding your father’s gray ashes; you’ve worn his sweater every day for a month but it still smells like sawdust & gold river chewing tobacco
- white pines heave & shudder in the wind, singing hymns to each other like ancient blind angels; you pray deliver me to the splinter of a moon
- the sharp, heavy taste of spitting blood into the waffle house bathroom sink at 1am, knowing they might still be outside looking for you
