Maddie Woda is an undergraduate at Columbia University, studying English. She is a member of the Columbia Review and has work or forthcoming work in South 85 Journal, ANGLES, and Flash Fiction Magazine.
You are white marble and tin when you are angry, edges as sharp as soup can tops lined up on the counter. Draws a little blood, smacks of exhaustion and charity. Canned plums for dinner again because you’ve gone to bed on this day the Lord has made even though I made you promise to never let the sun set… Read more →
My grandfather creates clocks, grandfather clocks, and it seems unpoetic now though it used to seem ironic and canny, before I knew what irony was, before I’d read Freud and swore off meat and milk on Mondays for the boys out to war. He converted his daughter’s doll room into a clock repair shop, gears and glass faces spilling out… Read more →