I have forgotten his name but see his hand blue knotted veins paper skin. He reached from his bed grasped my wrist asked Am I dying? I could not speak. His fear was mine.
Issue 102
William Palmer: He Pours a Small Glass of Milk
Scrolls down. Two young women take off their clothes but keep on their stilettos. They kiss but don’t mean it. He can tell. He sees the curve of red scars under one girl’s breasts. They take turns bobbing between each other’s legs. He doesn’t know why he watches. God, he and Betty used to swell […]
Kent Neal: Disinfected Dating
Despite opening all the windows; despite sitting at opposite ends of a long couch; despite wearing face shields, masks, and latex gloves; I can still smell the alcohol in my date’s hand sanitizer. While we two strangers struggle with this biographical back-and-forth, I can’t stop staring at you: sky-blue surgical mask. Rough three-day scruff rubs […]
Brittany Mishra: The Living
A home is a home to stay at home. Brick and mortar. Carpets, wood, varnish, and vinyl. We lounge on our floors, cradle our heads in our hands, and look up at the popcorn ceilings as if we are relaxing in blue grass. We have time to discover the images of our desires in the […]
Jennifer Martelli: Succulent
I want to fill a bay window with fifteen jade plants in terra cotta pots until they grow thick and knotted as snakes tangling in the hair of a woman raped by a god and punished by a woman. I want to tease rubbery pearl beads of asterids into a rosary string, finger them, pray […]