Back then I thought everything needed a heart:the dots over the two little i’s in my name;the lids of my art class clay pinch pots;drawings of cats with too-long whiskersriding on bright green trains that fellright off the page. But then I learned there are animals with no heart:starfish, sponges,
I returned the comic book to the store. “Sorry, I don’t care for refrigerator women.” Sticking us in the freezer, defining “frigidity,” making martyrs of the “meats.” “Sorry, I can’t read this.” Some superhero sidepiece broke
Rain catches on the windows as green blurs against most of my sight. I steal glimpses of umber bark and for a momentI mistake the forest for his eyes. The light dotting of houses within the trees pulls me from the safety of the train car into the blazingisolation and wild myth of the highlands. [&he
By Emma Gail Compton I am allergic to oranges, but I bought one a week ago. It was the only thing I bought on my stop at the grocery store; I had a coupon for navel oranges and time enough to walk to the grocers. It was only one quarter instead of two. I intended […]
TRIGGER WARNING: SEXUAL ASSAULT, VIOLENCE, & BLOOD By Emma Gail Compton I. The Bed I had a dream that woke me up at 4:39 in the morning, laying in a pool of sweat in my frigid room. I must have thrown my shirt above the bed; the sleeve was caught on my bed frame and […]
By Claire Furjanic I sit alone on the bench, running my fingers along my light denim jeans. They used to fit me back in 1967 shortly after I got married, but now even the tightest loop on my belt can’t prevent them from hanging loosely around my thinned waist. A familiar car […]
