The Devil’s Triangle



Three glasses in a triangle

—Brett Kavanaugh


Not that. I see a three-sided room. One wall

gleams of brimstone, globs of golden yellow

dripping molten beads that slide and run all

over. Sixty degrees, the angle to its fellow,

formed by flames hot as passion or a welder’s

torch, or sixty times as hot. The darkest room

in all Gehenna, this ungodly triune’s elder

guards the gate into this grisly fest of gloom:

a line of spinning pitchforks from the stinging

sulfur fumes to the wordless tongues that hiss

spit up sparks. A place for torture-slinging

villains only: a man who forsakes with a kiss,

a child-slicing ruler, a naked father, a bad guy

with a gun. Or do I look and see it’s all a lie?


TR Poulson, a University of Nevada alum and proud Wolf Pack fan, lives in San Mateo, California. A previous J Journal contributor, her work has also appeared or is forthcoming in Rattle, Booth, Aethlon, Jabberwock Review, Trajectory, The Raintown Review, Verdad, and others.