I donned the solemn
costume of my father
to debate our slipping
futures and the law.
I loved a man
in an equine mask
who called himself
salt horse horse.
As in noh, women
were played by boys
cloverleafing on the stage
at rigid, predetermined angles.
I was recognized many times.
Throw a 1 in the chat if you ready
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Serena Solin lives in Brooklyn by way of Leonia, NJ and St. Louis, MO. Her work has appeared in Fence, Ghost City Press, Queen Mob's Teahouse,The Atlas Review, and elsewhere.