by Rebecca Nieminen Sloan

You built a bridge of toothpicks to my door
And clasped my hand and coaxed me out across
On words of honey, nectar, spice and salt
I floated like a feather, sweetly lost
Then midway through the brittle slats collapsed
And your face changed from pretty flint to bone
A coward’s face, a liar’s tongue, at last
With time enough, the truth is always known
Behold me now, I grasp the iron scales
Like justice I am blind, but brightly see
With eyes that burn with brimstone, ice and hail
A woman’s scorn hath hell you can’t believe
I’ll run you down until you’re nothing more
Than sunken shrapnel on a murky floor
A dreamless shipwreck lulled by glassy waves
To break a precious heart? No, nevermore

Rebecca Nieminen Sloan is an award-winning journalist with a bachelor’s in Professional Writing and Editing and a master’s in English, both from YSU. For more than a decade she has penned news, features and columns for The Vindicator. Her features and poetry have also appeared in The Finnish American Reporter and The Penguin Review. In 2007 she contributed to a collaborative nonfiction book titled My Father Spoke Finglish at Work: Finnish Americans in Northeast Ohio, which was published by Kent State University Press. Rebecca has completed two unpublished novels and a short story collection and is working on a third novel. She teaches freshmen composition at YSU and enjoys photography.

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