I’ᗰ ᗯEIᖇᗪᒪY ᗩTTᖇᗩᑕTEᗪ TO:

watching a blood-soaked man be rolled in a stretcher across the street while an ambulance vibrates my apartment walls, watch his wife kneeless clawing at police and doctors he's not breathing he hasn't been for years. Her hand covering mouth, the other on her bloated pregnant belly, she is trying to stop life from exiting. I watch cameramen flock like clumps of black sea flooding the city. Her make up is too good. I say. Her hair blown-out silky. If you were dying the last thing I'd have on is lipstick, I tell Shod when I say I love you it is forgetting to put on make up when you’re dying. Love looks so real in the end, when the cameraman finds you, valleys of salt already poured out your eyes, legs on concrete. When the director says Cut
Now do it again.

KT Dorfman is pursuing her MFA at NYU. Her work has been long listed twice for the National Poetry Competition and DisQuiet Literary prize. Her poems are titled after Hinge prompts, and are a part of a collection of 25 first dates she went on. Her work is upcoming in Driftwood Press, Reed Magazine, Antiphony Journal, etc. She loves small bugs and geodes.