by Casey Nichols
Anger is a library of antique worlds.
Youngstown steel, man of the house.
Supper’s half gone before she gets to sit down.
“…should have married the goddamned dentist!” he spat,
polluting heavy silence like debris in the Mahoning.
My mother broke our family but her father broke his home.
“Woman! Why don’t you listen to me?”
I was five when I learned grandfathers hated their daughters.
Casey Nichols is a writer from Liberty, Ohio. She writes poetry and short stories and attends local workshops and readings. Recently, she has been published in Luna Negra and received the first place Undergrad Poetry Scholarship at Kent State. She is a junior English major and attends Kent State University