The Evergreen
By Tara Ramsey Hannah's motorcycle fishtails on wet pavement before she goes down. This is it. When she was a girl, Hannah loved the sensation of cheating the reaper. She climbed the skinny evergreen behind her house, high as she could go, until she could feel death waiting to catch her should she fall. She clung for dear life and kissed the tree, savoring the piney zing of sap. Fear and joy were one. She was alive. Her skin on pavement, death rushing at her in the form of a pickup with squealing breaks, Hannah feels it again; joy, pine sap, waiting arms. Fair By Emily Haymans You promised to get me something if I beat you. Game after game, you rewarded yourself. Funnel cakes, spun sugar, ice cream slipping down paper cups. I saw the mirrored house. It was like the movie you shouldn't have let me watch, when a girl's breath clouded on one of the mirrors, and the man with the knife snapped out from inside of it in a burst of silver triangles. I dropped your hand, my mouth watering. Your voice echoed from glass, my name bouncing around corners like flashes of light. I did not stop for one second to answer. Bad Hotel By Robert Scotellaro The cab driver's eyes in the rearview mirror as our lips parted. Lowering, when my eyes were added. Too much to drink. The hotel ceiling fan spinning the scarf you tossed up there. It was red and green. And it wasn't even Christmas. Just felt like it. Watching TV, after. A politician. A lot of double-talk. You shook your head. Said, "What does it matter if the devil paints his kitchen white?" On the way back, you told me your husband's hands were softer than my own. In the light rain, our taxi veered around a mattress in the Comments are closed.
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April 2020
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