{obscura}

Before long, I agree to be the ghost in this play, but only if I can sleep late and break stuff.  You 
give me three lines and a hurled candy dish before I go off script.  Off topic.  Off my rocker. 
Mistake the oracle for an opening for a regular occurrence.  All I remember of the country is hard, 
hard water that makes my hair brittle and my showerhead chalky.  I keep dreaming that my eye 
teeth crumble into my palm and I can't see enough to taste you.  Your country was all car trips and 
cicada storms and the deer that crashed through the passenger window and yet somehow survived.  
Somehow, I agree to be the ghost again, but this time I break my wrist in the first act and keep 
stepping on your cues.  My nightgown keeps tangling in the footlights and catching on fire. 





Kristy Bowen's work has appeared most recently in Birdfeast, Yew Journal, Gone Lawn, and Projectile. She is the author of several zine, chapbook, and book projects including the recent full length projects, the shared properties of water and stars (Noctuary Press, 2013) and the forthcoming girl show (Black Lawrence Press, 2013).