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Alicia Catt 

Dear Jessica

      after Portia Elan


the  scars on your  arms remind  me  of  whip welts  but I’m not afraid:   I  know  how 
our skins dream of bleeding,  how any sharp  thing  becomes  a fire escape in the right 
light.   I  would  fillet  both my wrists for you to  bandage  &  isn’t that what devotion 
means?  What  I  mean is  Jessica  everything  hurts  please  don’t go.  Mix  a  scotch  & 
scotch  &  drink  &  let  me  sink  your  battleship.   Dear  Jessica I  am not in love with 
you but in  the  dark my hands insist otherwise.   The duvet’s gone missing &  the dog
licks  your  face but I only  want  to climb  inside  you one  wicked finger at a time.   I 
only  want  to  write poems  about  you   &  your  yesyesyes!   I only  want  to  drink  & 
drink  &    draw your  hips into  the lap of my tongue till the neighbors pound the wall. 
&  maybe  I do love  you,            okay!,               but   Jessica  please  stop  crying.  Let’s 
smoke Old Golds  &  make our bitch mothers  into  voodoo  dolls.   Or let’s  drive  our 
cars  into  a  lake―drown  with  our hair  plaited  together  so when  we’re dredged up 
they’ll  know  who  I  belonged to.  Dear  Jessica  here  is  the thing:  when I tell you to 
stop crying it’s because I don’t know how to start.




Alicia Catt
received her MFA from Minnesota State University, and is currently at work on a memoir about the sex industry. Her writing can be found in The Los Angeles Review, Salt Hill, Yemassee, The Pinch, and elsewhere. She lives in Minneapolis with her pitbull, Piggy.




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