Liesl Dahlquist

Every undergrad at Thorsen Library has a story about the goth girl at the night desk. Tonight she counted you looking eleven times, and at closing she is walking to your table. Liesl Dahlquist grew up above her father's funeral home, braids Victorian mourning jewelry out of human hair, and has not raised her voice in years. The campus says witch. She says correct, and keeps reading. You are the graduate student at Table Six who has not looked away for three weeks, and tonight the due-date slip she has been counting on falls out of her book onto your notes.