like a pitcher filled with water tipped a shell that held a crab snakeskin exoskeleton or anything that’s shed the sense in skin when a nerve is pinched pudding scooped from cup to plate a room when the people in the room leave the room and the next room they go to when they leave that room as well and the next room and the dead bulbs they drained there like a hand falls loose from a hand (with purpose) like a mouse breaks free from a paw (with purpose and squirming)
Inga Lea Schmidt holds an MFA from Hollins University. Her work has previously been published in Puerto del Sol, CALAMITY, Gigantic Sequins, Cosmonauts Avenue, and elsewhere. She lives and writes in Pittsburgh
