Sharp Objects

Alyssa Froehling

         She takes me to a motel
in the winter, a two-star with a white tile
bathroom stained with drips of blood
and coffee.

         We open into each other,
draw the curtains to find we are surrounded
by coyotes. Scattershot of light
through the window, a million gold eyes.
A million pins pressed down by a sure thumb.

         I check the closet while she checks under the bed,
looking for the same insidious tool
that carved us both. For once, we find
nothing. She undresses me, carries me

         to the bathtub, gently pushes me under
water to rinse the blood from my teeth.
A red cloud spreading
then disappearing like a sigh.

Alyssa Froehling

ALYSSA FROEHLING received her MFA from Ohio State in 2021 and her poems appear in Black Warrior Review, Puerto Del Sol, The Pinch, and elsewhere. Find her at

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