CATHERINE PIERCE

In Which I Imagine Myself Into a Slasher Flick

The Jennies get it first.
The Trishes. The Ambers.
Never my silhouette through
shower steam. Never my red
mouth in close-up. I’ve got
straight A’s and no boyfriend.
I’ve got Friday nights
and sleeping neighbor children.
But worry. Because I’ve got
an unadorned name. Sharp
vision by moonlight.
My father’s rusted hatchet
and a jetliner scream.  

   Contributor’s notes   
   In Which I Imagine Myself Into a Film Noir
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