Someone Else’s Whiskey

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Scarlett was a jungle, her lawn never mowed 

insides dusty and grimy, a leak 

that dripped from tub to basement. 

She moved into Scarlett from the north 

found herself in a too-small bikini on an overgrown lawn 

in September, earning pink tan lines and 

smelling like coconut and desperation.

She scrubbed Scarlett’s floors and whispered kind things, but 

there were always tufts of cat hair floating 

on mysterious breezes, crusty forks 

left in the sink, half-full glasses of whiskey on the counter

from the night before. No matter how much she 

bleached the bathroom she still remembers 

the way he screamed 

when he did not get 

his way.

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Vanessa R. Bradley (she/her) loves fantasy novels but manages to write a lot of poetry about organs, dirt, divorce, and discovering queerness. She lives in Epekwitk (Prince Edward Island) with her wife, where she is working on a fantasy novel and a collection of poetry about the meaning of flowers. She has been published with Blank Spaces Magazine and On Loan from the Cosmos. Find her on Instagram @v.r.bradley and on Twitter @vanessarbradley.

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