issue 13: oct 2016
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South of The Border by Laura Hackshaw

Run
You’ve been jogging in the same spot
For twice as long now
And every week (or other)
You get your nails manicured
At the same place on 42nd street
Who told you to wear gloves?

When you know damn well
Your hands were made
For washing dishes

“Men don’t scrape the food from their own plates
Into waste bins”
(A curse sprouts from underneath your tongue)
“But my father knows how to dispose of his women
And that is far more difficult to do.”


 

Laura is a black British-Caribbean girl living in London. A lover of the written word, she has written articles for publications such as; The Body Narratives and The Student Journals. She also writes poetry and short stories and is currently working on a children’s book. You can find her on twitter and wattpad.

Photo by Kassandra (K.) Piñero. You can find her on tumblr and instagram

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