Suzanne Marie Hopcroft


Who cannot be bothered to uncoil it the real and
vivid mass of strands that lie beneath a disembodied
hair sculpture isn’t made of breath and blood they

tell me not really male to catch a lover’s chin in hand reel
in with touch then draw flesh away from warmth but

he’s not he to me but I and beneath these brocade
mounds and down I’ve seen clear enough what could
be steel growing into ribboned guts the waste of

man in pretty comfort woven doves and bubble
ambrosia that sates too quick to stoke

Suzanne Marie Hopcroft is a PhD student in Comparative Literature at Yale University and writes from New York City. Her fiction has appeared in journals including LITnIMAGE, > kill author, and elimae; this is her first published poem.

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