When I died I had a self reminder on the back of my hand. I forget what it said now, but it was something like, Don’t forget that thing you are supposed to remember. My…
Browsing Category Prose, Poetry, and Art
Nothing Gold Can Stay
Our sixth-grade classroom smelled of stale peanut butter and scrapped fruit wafting from the lunch pails inside our desks—those we’d crouched under in drills during the Cuban Missile Crisis. Word problems and diagrammed sentences sprawled…
Coveting Apertures by Sarah Schubmehl
To be a man. to be two men, together. To feel absences filled— hard pressure, thrusting pain— to take pleasure without fear of fullness, without fear of my womb, without the threat of a body…