poem
Volume 22, Number 4

Stockholm Syndrome

Several dead sparrows dangle from the clothesline. Should we leave or press the doorbell? The hostage in the video blinked in Morse code. I shout for help. There are gallows at every crossroad. Don’t forget to be happy, the automated message says. Blood provides the only splash of color. The sensation of drowning is added to the list of what’s not allowed.


—Howie Good