When The School Burned, Our Ghosts Were Released

My brilliant friend Sara Peters has been writing the strangest, most eerie and powerful prose poems since her book 1996 came out a couple years ago. Go read this poem, "Third State," and shiver; it's springtime in America, where there's never a moment when a school shooting or violence against women poem isn't appropriate: "When the gunman ordered all the males to leave the room, we crouched behind desks and tables with wet, wheeling eyes, before being caught up by our hair and shot through our throats. Years later, we still had bodies, but our skins were loosening, our bones were disintegrating, our organs were growing cold within us, we were moving toward the third state."