Act I: The Hollow
Before the dawn, the darkest hour.
These poems live in the space before language finds its footing. Sarah writes from the bathtub, from the bar stool, from the prison she has built inside her own body. The imagery is visceral — ashes in water, pockmarked cheeks, drought without rain. There is no pretense here, only the raw ache of a woman who has not yet learned that the darkness is not the whole story.
4 poems · 626 words