Issue Thirteen

Normal Objects

When my daughter and I came to visit you, the razor in the bathroom was just a razor to you. A reminder of last weekend when your son came home from college. Maybe you wished he’d put it away because it cluttered the sink. Maybe you were glad he’d left it out, like an...

Blue

Weeping indigo seeps across your skin in needle-pricked ink. His anger spills over the page; he cannot hear your voice. You try watercolour comfort. I find blue in your words, your bruised tongue lying peacefully. Forget-me-not kiss bleeding indigo into me. You’ve...

Stepping Out

My second first steps are like a walrus in stilettos. Quick, slow, quick, quick, slow. Jelly legs buckling at the knees. There’s a picture on the wall of a Caribbean sunset as if I might just waltz off into it. Slow, quick, quick. Phantom sand between my toes. No...

Five Painful Memories

1. Two men in splattered white coats are slaughtering a Velveeta. It screams and screams and screams. Its voice unravels like a yellow stocking thread. I am choking. One man holds a giant gleaming hook with a wooden handle. They are smoking cigars. I run home and...

What Art Thou To Me

To be honest, I may not be much better than an insect, masturbating while my son cries himself to sleep. What art Thou to me? Twists of cirro -stratus, wisps and twists, a string of geese unraveling below the moon’s better half, nothing stationary. You cut in and out,...

From the seat/ Cricket clock bus

From the seat That night, at that point of time, three sounds: a cricket, a clock and a moving bus Cricket: End of the year agony or entertainment or just a competition? There may be a paramour nearby, a boyfriend. So, will she fall in love with a mosquito?  Is...

Pin It on Pinterest