by Tori D’Amico
Bodies on the side of the road still animal enough to recognize— it’s enough to make you reckless. Fill paper bag lungs halfway with dry air that burns the dashboard, outside flaying exposed stomach, dragged five feet in front, still burning off some hyundai’s tread. Enough for the road to become secondary, to pull into the shoulder, asphalt open casket bearing only head and tail on opposite sides of a valley. I’d scrape them up cradle the disgusting remains to my breast probably smelling of octane. Hold this dead thing pretending it is whole, the fluff of the tail limp on my bicep and lay it to rest in my backseat.
Tori D’Amico is a senior communications major with a concentration in journalism and a minor in creative writing. While her core studies were in news writing, her free time was constantly filled with poetry and prose. Most recently, she completed her honors thesis with a ten-poem collection titled “Everything was vermillion.” After graduation, Tori hopes to continue dedicating time to writing poetry and perhaps one day making it a full time career.