Amy Marie Thomas is a Detroiter currently living in northern Indiana. Here, she earned an MFA in poetry from the
University of Notre Dame. She’s held jobs that run the gamut from teaching assistant to adult store manager to book shelver, though she has settled happily into the role of lecturer. She teaches composition and creative writing at Indiana University South Bend and Lake Michigan College.
the hanger room. the mother in the white dress. caked black at the bottom, the burn, the mud. in the corner. the corner’s metallic bite. the mother’s mouth sagging down. fingers curling to arm, white and bloated. the father enters on the one leg. the other on the ceiling. slashed open and dried now. the hat crooked, the hair congealed beneath it. the teeth missing. the lapsed smile half laughing bread mouth. around the mother’s finger.