With a shaved head
and a treble clef on her neck
she kept the checkout lines moving
In the break room one day
one eye was held shut by a bruise
the other with sleep
The manager said
we can’t help her if she won’t help herself
so we did nothing.
With a shaved head
and a treble clef on her neck
she kept the checkout lines moving
In the break room one day
one eye was held shut by a bruise
the other with sleep
The manager said
we can’t help her if she won’t help herself
so we did nothing.
Winner of the Gerald Stern poetry prize and the Joan Didion award for creative nonfiction, Caitlin Cruser lives and writes in Western Pennsylvania.
Full ProfileAuthor retains copyright to any work presented.
Copyright © 2021-2024 The New York Quarterly Foundation, Inc.
All rights reserved.4