When Haley Larson was twenty, she backpacked alone through eleven countries, where she hiked up (and fell down) the bulbous slopes of Montserrat, slept on frosty ship decks from Croatia to Italy to Greece, and got reprimanded by Bosnian border guards about her age, gender and general aloneness. Her reviews and interviews appear in Rattle and Superstition Review. Her father speaks to her in German, and she currently pursues her MFA in poetry at Colorado State University.
I’d been thinking about leaving. I’d been thinking how there’s something about out here. Before long it’s a new January and you’re hungover with a heartache for a man you won’t see for several years until he pops up on that very popular, critically-acclaimed sitcom with that actress you learned to like, then hate, then feign indifference abou
The leak in your breathing/ tube makes a cartoon squeak./ It takes two nurses, silent/ as nuns, to place you/ in my arms...
If I have already/ gone insane/ but I want to get/ crazier yet,/ what’s my move?/ Go outsane?
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