Some days the bees are melancholic. Someone spills soda in the hallway and the bees spend hours with sugar on their feelers, leaving small sticky footprints up the spines of #2 pencils. I’m not convinced they’ll ever handwrite an essay.
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Silk
In the days somewhere between one winter and another spring, the night kept calling us to the sewer.
Mother of All Pigs
There is an unspoken fear that a daughter’s innocence, hence marriageability, would somehow be threatened.
Pigeon Forge
Beatriz feels alarmingly soft in your hands, and you graze her body with your palms the way you would pet the long grass by the river where you live. She tosses her dark hair aside, wraps her hand over yours, and clenches down on her own flesh.
Unsafe Is Not A Feeling
In therapy, I was used to experiencing myself as a sieve, a bum mirror, a talking machine. My body language was typically involuntary. “Scared?” I said, though that sounded so much more specific. Around us, potted plants offered oxygen.
La Mujer Alacran
A month after the attack on her body, she woke to find she could not peel her fingers apart; the skin of her hands was fused together. She could no longer steer a car. They were claws, bent and poised in defense.
Barry Four Voices
I tell myself that I feel love but people like me don't feel things like love. Do they?
