See the work from wherever you’re situated, so why not read these sisters as eating the patriarchy, baring teeth to the cult of stolen flesh. Vindication, cold despair, waxing fingers nibbled to the bone and a two-finger (what a waste) hairball choke.
Some give two hours, I give less, yet there despite scaredy-cat excuses. Walking past is hard but people manage. A mum and two little ones duck-run, a manboy chicken-walks. One brochure taken for thirty-plus refusals. It’s hard. To receive is to change.
Nails, like me/us, sullied with scrabbling from those ‘dank and wretched’ (17) ditches that life creates. The expressiveness of jam stains, soaring shifts in syntax. I am the protagonist’s friend, I put my loving hand on this book, declare myself ‘ensorcelled’ (151).