Ashley Inguanta's fiction and poetry have appeared in SmokeLong Quarterly, PANK, Wigleaf, Gone Lawn, Pindeldyboz, Elephant Journal, Breadcrumb Scabs, and Sweet: A Literary Confection, among other journals.
There’s A Hound Inside Her Lungs
There’s a hound inside her lungs, breathing the scent the man left. Sweat gathered in clumps, a salt-water river through his forehead lines. His eyes, cowboy-hat shaded. He said flowers belong under rugs. Clusters of veined petals, soiled roots—he said they all belong under rugs. Her back rushed to the wall, corkboard pin held between his calloused hands, almost, almost on her skin. Almost, almost on her brown skin, her branching veins rising, plumping like mountains, then settling—hard. She thinks this is what thunder feels like when the sky grows sharp with light. A decade later, light will pierce her in the form of a woman’s tongue, sharp enough to slice the begonias she hid within bells. Muted lullaby, bloodhound chorus.