I tried to write this story as Viola, for violation

But my French tongue, viol, is more straightforward, so


I wonder why violer, to violate, is just a letter from voler,

or to fly?


Why violée, or violated, is just one from volée:

to be stolen?


I can see a hawk dig its claws into a rabbit, and I



Why did I start to dig into my skin

the same year that I first dug between my legs?


Did I need to negate all pleasure with pain?

My obsession with compulsion?


Or maybe I had been leaving his clasp, right then, by becoming

a better writer


Now, I see Viola play the viola,

but soon she will learn the violins



The Last Rebellion


Why would you buy me roses

when you need only find them, hook your fingers

underneath and pull?

You could deflower me all at once like that

But you give each of them your time


And the hairs on my arms

stand up like the angry grass

waiting for our first steps

down there on God’s Green Earth


Palaces is Prose Editor for Walled Women Magazine, Assistant Editor for CHEAP POP, and Assistant at One Lit Place. She’s placed her own work in Eclectica MagazineMaudlin HouseBlazeVOXQuail Bell Magazine, and many others. She has a BAH from Queen’s University, and she is working on a budding book series. You can read more about her at pascalepotvin.com  or @pascalepalaces  on Twitter.