Killing the Party with an Icebreaker
By Kaci MoDavis
“Do me a favor,” she says, “Please, no unnecessary facts.” I walk into the party, engulfed in the air of others, bumping shoulders & shivering alone, the music pounding like alarms, long sleeves an anomaly in the mass of bare stomachs & protruding breasts, cheeky smiles, my existence a mere speckle in the sea of thrashing souls, until one measly face looks over towards me and I say, without an ounce of unease, “Sir, did you know rats can’t puke?”
Spiders on Bathroom Walls
By Kaci MoDavis
as a girl I stomped and kicked
burned and flicked, even picked
at those stringy, slingy, little buggers
my family called
“daddy-long-legs.”
they’d run up on me like a
predator ready to catch
its prey,
the bare flesh upon my
ankles their prime goal, but
I’d never let them get so
far. Beady little bodies
I ran from with fear, no less
than if it was a bear.
as a woman I watch and praise,
admire and linger, even wish
for those stringy, slingy, little buggers
my family calls
“daddy-long-legs.”
I see them once in awhile
darting towards me though I know
I’m never the goal in mind.
tiny little legs, barely
a pea-sized body on the
bathroom walls, I reach out &
touch with peace.
not everything causing fright
should be met with fear.
Kaci MoDavis
Kaci MoDavis is a twenty-year old aspiring writer currently attending Susquehanna University as an undergraduate student studying Creative Writing and Sociology. She resides in the woods of Pennsylvania, casually feeding fawns in her backyard and swarming her brain with an abundance of fiction novels. She focuses primarily on fiction writing, but enjoys poetry when there’s a sprinkle of quirkiness or a heavily emotional story. In the future, Kaci aspires to become a novelist and screenwriter.
Photo credit: Alexander Popov
Apricot Press 