Solitary Vice

Solitary Vice


I loved a girl

when I was a girl,


before I knew desire

could be used against me.


I so wanted to be relevant.

Simple exchange—


bouquets of wheat.

My dirt-stained hands,


tangled hair. I never

could be prim,


in apple-pie order.

I dropped all the eggs,


licking their smear

off my hands;


wrinkled her ribbons

into my pocket,


tore pages from her books,

all for the sake


of the lonely hour.

By Valerie Wtlaufer

Photography by Josh Soskin