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The ghost in my vagina led me to the woods.
Piss on the bones.
I did and gathered the face and spine of a dead raccoon.
That’s all that was left.
I know a guy, and he got the spine.
I don’t know anyone else, so I kept the face.
Feel tenderly for that which unrepentantly eats garbage.
I wrapped the face in tissue and placed it in an old toy chest.
The ghost in my vagina was silent for days.
In obeisance to the ghost I made offerings:
Dicks and yogurt and cotton and silk.
The dicks turned to assholes and nothing more happened.
Months passed before I felt the old pulse.
Nicole Mason received her MA in Literature at Northern Michigan University where she dabbled in the dark arts of poetry. Currently, she teaches Composition and Creative Writing at Indiana University of South Bend. Her poems have appeared in Chiron Review, Kerouac’s Dog, The Ramshackle Review, and (b)OINK.