Overheard one of my professors: Good writer. Strange girl. Walked seven miles on Wednesday. Did not stop for pretty dogs or sad-eyed daffodils. Wore holes into my sneakers. When birds sing I dread the necks that might need snapping. You can get really good at overhearing things if you’re nosy. Or invisible (easy for girls). Writing is like cutting off a finger and then people get to say This finger could be prettier. Mine are red and bitten raw. I never burned ants, butchered cats, or masturbated in the back of class, but I’ve got this thread of freak woven straight through me. Can’t untangle it or else I might unravel into a soft, cool grave. You walk like you’re trying to get the hell away, my coworker shouts from across the street. From what?I want to ask. Feels important. Feels like the closest people are willing to get to me is across the street. Pass the cemetery at a slow crawl to spend time with every Beloved. They whisper: Strange writer. Good girl.
Megan Williams is a writer currently completing her MFA. Most recently, her work appears in West Trade Review, Pidgeonholes, and Rejection Letters. You can tweet her about Mitski (among other things) @megannn_lynne.
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