Every night I touch my lips to her face, lower them into the cold water of the creek bed, the water pushing around my mouth, making my teeth ache, closest I ever get to being…
Browsing Category Prose, Poetry, and Art
An All or Nothing Machine
People don’t grow up the way they used to. By which I mean— sometimes I store trash in the freezer to make it to garbage day. I harness the cold to disinfect my jeans. My…