Great Little Death Wish Thing

Sunlight dapples across your lashes,
turns them to gold.

When I was a child the yard was full of slugs. Juncos and black flies.Mom gave us nickels and dimes to take snails to the pond Tossed into bushes along the path,I’d enjoy the weight of them leaving my hand…

“For Protection” he says smearing goop across my forehead. My father is a sculptor, And I am the wax figure he created. With the help of his rough working hands, On my face, he layers-on a sheet of Vaseline. Staring…