Arielle Greenberg Some Dark Holler I was waiting to be loved by kiddie-nappers out there by the wellspring, in the willow brush, the golden nap of pollen fuzz blurring me, and I was in a lowly mood; I was worn by the notion that once I'd worn a thousand uniforms of twisted paper roses leaking pinkness and now was just a pervert in brass, and squatting like a beggar down where I'd been a lassie. My mouth ran dry, my tongue ran like the wormy tongues of the dark river, and in the bush hid the blue-painted or yeller-painted mysteriosos who had come for me, I hoped. I am only paranoid in that I am always right about who is going to love the bejesus right out of me. I waited and waited for Nothing to come and claim me but I was not even baggage for bastards and Nothing came, Nothing did not come. I decided to rally. I left my stocking to make it look like the skin of a crime scene. In my stead, the leaves wrapped around another poor fool with a middle initial buried deep in the soil, like a bear-trap in the coming dark. And I was waiting to wear the fur that wanted to foil me, to bellow, the gleaming dusk a loving cup, a trophy for any victim that gets sunk in its silvery throat. Arielle Greenberg is the author of Given . Her poems have appeared in many journals, including the Denver Quarterly, Black Warrior Review, Crazyhorse, Fence, Volt, American Letters & Commentary, Pleiades, jubilat, CROWD and Crayon.