Donna Dallas studied Creative Writing and Philosophy at NYU. She meandered about before she became a successful business woman, married and mothered 2 beautiful children. Over the years, she has written down events from scribbles to journals. She has bundled stories of lives that fell apart in front of her or with her. Donna has been published in Mud Fish, Nocturnal Lyric, The Café Review, The New York Quarterly and was lucky enough to study under William Packard back in the day. She took a slight hiatus and is recently found or forthcoming in 34th Parallel, Vending Machine Press, Anti-Heroin Chic, The Opiate Magazine, Sick Lit Magazine and several other publications.
she sleeps coiled around a tree trunk
breathes the devil’s chants into air
she slinks out of the garden
her tongue slithers across nights
dogs howl and she hisses dirty gospels
whispers promises of orgasms to come
all men are charmed by her
she wraps around
over and over she slips
herself around penises
constricting to the death
she will eat her men
This New Year’s Eve
I list my faults. Lay them bare
like tarot cards across the table and
watch puffs of smoke explode above
me—I’m so bad.
I watch evaporating devils
bubble in my champagne.
They float up like unholy ghosts
into the air—bad girl all alone
this New Year’s Eve.
And the neighbors are having a party.
Laughing and chitter-chatter trickles through
the cracks in the wood panels
The bubbles whisper forgiveness. I’m such
Angels are banging on the door.
If I let them in will I be blessed?
Will someone come and actually love
me tonight? One night stands have
Music travels through
the wall. Angels seep in under the door.
Relentless little things.
I tap the glass, look at
cigarette butts burning in the ashtray
all alone this New Year’s Eve.