To My Confessor by m.nicole.r.wildhood

I was in one of the rarest places
in the world anymore: a public, grassy field
and I did not even remove my shoes.

I instead used all my creative power
to linger, hesitate:
curl my hair to jump from a ledge.

A body is not a safe thing to be
but this is a holy ledger, life.
And it will never be enough to just not die.



In addition to blogging at, m.nicole.r.wildhood’s work has appeared in The Atlantic, The Atticus Review, and elsewhere; she was a finalist for America Magazine’s annual Foley Poetry Contest. She currently writes for Seattle’s street newspaper Real Change and is at work on a novel and collections of poetry, including one in Spanish.