Every woman has her Pensacola, that shorthand of, “Oh, me too. I know who you are.” -Elisabeth Horan The poems in Pensacola Girls are about abuse and trauma. They’re about the things men often (too often) do to women and children: make them prey, turn their bodies into playthings or objects of derision (depending on their mood), then blame the women, the girls, for their leers and jeers. It is about how men turn women mad, then hope they can Rochester their way out of it by l

They kick me out and tell me to take you with me. Of course, of course, I have to take you with me. Your mid-century modern is trashed with vomit. Your hair is matted and your lipstick smeared into your cheek. I am all out of pity and gods to please you with. They took all the food and fucking with them anyway. They said, no, really, this is excessive, even by our standards—and if you think we’re going to open the door when you knock once more, you better have a believable st

Bone & Ink Press, in collaboration with dancing girl press, presents: Riding with Anne Sexton, a chapbook by Jen Rouse. *** Here we are, darling, in the car. Vodka fresh and radio blaring. I know the bottom of that glass like I know god—and neither ends or begins in me, but I go on and you remain. Cherry red, lipstick-stained cigarette, and your name against my name. Anne. And this pain. That curls up on the leather beside you and calls you home. -from “Riding with Anne Sexto