“Dumping Ground” by Bre D’Alessio South

Dumping Ground

The perfect place
is always a vacant area —
it’s anticlimactic, I suppose.
The last step in a series of calculated moves.
Wind only cries
when it hits an object.
It’s always a dog that finds her.
Later, the noise will rise.
The boy who claimed
the inside of my thigh
before pulling into an empty cove.
Slick with summer sweat
he’ll pull his body over my head
pressing me further into the dashboard.
In another city
the boy who grabbed me by the hair
quietly paces a hospital floor.
Boy becoming father.
Bookends from campuses where people still utter
Boys will be boys and girls will be
up to no good
if they continue to look for trouble in dark places.
A dorm room
cheap whiskey
clung to my hips
before buried between cushions.
His weight pressed like boards
swallowing me into darkness.
I’ll try for the door
before he blocks it.
Later, I’ll crouch in the hallway
dial my sister
panting as I purge confession:
how I let him walk me home,
how I let him inside.
It’s always an open field
where the wind is quietest.

Bre D’Alessio South

Bre D'Alessio South is a writer based in Massachusetts. Her work has been featured in the Texas Review, Maudlin House, same faces collective, BarBar, and bullshit lit. She is a 2025 Best of the Net nominee. 

Headshot: Cristina Fisher

Photo Credit: Staff