by Lorrie Ness Sonny Mauricio Kneeling in frost, I mistook steam rising off the innards for the deer’s soul fogging his face. He wiped his knife down the side of his jeans, taught me that the field was for dressing, the shed out back was for hanging. With a one-fingered shove, deer pendulumed from the rafters —  meat softening with age. I walk alone through the year’s first snow, unzip my coat with the same motion as his blade slitting belly to breast, disrobing the buck of i

by Lorrie Ness Grant Whitty for the way I whispered fuck you instead of amen. and for the way I wanted to, but never did, say it loud enough for anyone to hear. because every mole must hide because some moles lose their nails digging and others surface clean fingered but choking for thinking god fucked his son with a childhood. and jesus fucked us all with his example. and nobody fucked poor mary except they did. because every daughter is an echo and every echo is a sound bo