no shoes inside

I don’t bleed water no matter how many times you tell me that’s what I’m made of
a pinprick doesn’t turn me into a faucet
my arteries are not wired like a hose
only my eyes bleed water 
because they are
the closest thing
to the sky

Do you ever really wait to hear the echo?


drink water on the edge in between cusp tipping point
totally swallow the something that falls out around words


Regurgitation is for birds

So yesterday I found a blue tarp
the kind that pools in the center when it rains
softness can suffocate even the noisiest of things

If you yell loud enough I think you’ll turn into a tab of acid on my eyes
melt into my muddy sockets
no shoes inside you say

I’m told my eyes will one day be reborn in green like my father’s
but maybe I’m not just like my father 
and maybe green isn’t always new

And they will melt
torturously gently
into red rain

Pink lemonade
so stunning, honey

Some people say the speed of light is torturously slow

You don’t have to yell

A pack of coyotes is usually much smaller than it seems 
they’ve learned to seduce sound

ISABELLE EDGAR

Originally from Woods Hole, Massachusetts, Isabelle Edgar is a writer and dancer living in Chicago, Illinois. She is currently studying English at Stanford University and dancing with Little Fire Artists’ Collective.