Month: February 2017

r/etch

how many frozen peas fit inside your fist put them on me in places i want to feel fit them inside me adjust them and yourself carefully you are only so right and i am only allowed to push out so many children without your eyes. i keep spewing as i am undrawn and there is a shell and think about an orange has so many pieces and it manages to be a whole and...

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Dirge

As soon as the engine cuts, we hear a sound like a distant siren. That’s weird, I say. You say nothing. We walk up to the apartment and the all the neighbors are out on the porch. That siren sound, their wailing. A woeful, haunting dirge. The children, the aunts and uncles, cousins, grandmother, all together in a chorus of loss like I’ve never heard. A thousand stratums of lamentation in their throats, a million ancestors conjured up and joining in their grief. You’ve heard it before. You look in their eyes and meet their pain. I walk past,...

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the things I wish for. the things I cannot have.

This is about me, so let’s start with “I.” I… People say my eyes are beautiful. Even as a child, with hollow rings beneath my hazel green eyes; even as a teenager with eruptions of volcanic acne; even as an adult, with exhaustion and motherhood; people always comment on my eyes. They’re doing the same with my daughter now. She is two. When you have a baby, you make many silent wishes. Pennies, birthday candles, wishbones, 11:11 on the clock. I wish… I wish for a night where sleep encumbers me. Where the hauntings don’t last beyond my REM....

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How Do You Know?

I’m lying in bed with my wife and she asks me about this woman I once hooked up with at a party in high school. Why this is, I’m not entirely sure. She’s heard of this woman before, her flaming red hair, and the way the ringlets cascaded down her neck. Her athletic prowess on the soccer field and the insane calf muscles etched from stone. Her ridiculously cool floppy-haired brother and the sweet convertible they shared. My wife knows that this woman dated a scary Division One football player who showed up at the high school parties in...

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How Dead Brothers Say Goodbye

One week after the funeral, the dead brother will appear outside your kitchen window. You will shriek at the sight of him leaning against the sycamore tree (or street lamp, or fence post) and whatever is in your hand (most likely a wineglass) will drop to the floor and shatter. The dead brother will be wearing his leather jacket—yes, that leather jacket—the one your mother had saved a month’s worth of waitressing tips to buy for his seventeenth birthday. You will then remember how he’d taken scissors (or maybe a rasp, or bleach) to roughen it up, make it...

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