Paige Riehl is accident prone, having accidentally boiled all her whites with one black sock in Ireland, swam above a shark in the Great Barrier Reef, consumed tap water in Morocco, and backpacked around seventeen countries. You can find her poetry now or forthcoming in publications such as Avatar Review, Blood Orange Review, Nimrod International Journal of Prose and Poetry, and Word Riot, to name a few.
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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