Boxes in the trunk of the Toyota Corolla Azure her mother sold when they got to the city. Their neighbor played “Purple Rain” every morning. Blue stripes on the city bus. Blue Man Group in Union Square. Public school, plastic chairs. First test. “Sorry kid,” when Natasha’s teacher handed her a blue pen.
It is summer and all my friends are dying.
Remember, dying ain’t pretty, and you can’t let the kiss of death linger too long. Pretend that you love him. Pretend that you are Milton’s little girl. Pretend that the pain is too much to bear. Do not laugh at how botched your aunt looks. Instead, kneel and pray—pretend to if you cannot.
Deep in the strange forest—half dead and sprinkled with the bones of long extinct creatures—was an even stranger nest. It was large and rotting, parts of it collapsed and covered in foliage. But it was The Mouse’s favorite place in the entire forest. The large nest was full of the prettiest rocks The Mouse had ever seen. These rocks were flat and could be pulled open and they were full of leaves. The leaves, in turn, had colorful markings on them. The leaves were mesmerizing, fascinating, and oddly delicious. On occasion, the markings looked like things The Mouse had seen. Sometimes, even The Mouse themself would be in one of the rocks.
You motion for another martini and down it quickly. What number is that? Three? Five? Why hasn’t He noticed you yet? You’re drunk but not yet sloppy. You’ll leave before that happens. Catch a cab, stumble up the stairs to your fourth-floor walk up. You pick up your cell and your fingers move slowly but you put a note in your phone with the name of the bar you’re at—sober you will appreciate the breadcrumbs.
It lies in their souls. That Earthly promise of life beyond the flesh and ascent into the sky along an arch formed by rain. It is only the drowned—buried under the seafoam corpses of our ancestors—whose souls remain in the sea.
For years after Arturo’s death, Robert lived as a recluse, conspiring with David in the dark. David understood what it felt like to be modeled after his maker and his maker’s desires, only to become something far greater, lonelier, the romantic genius always looking over the precipice.
I feel pulled towards the earth, not the concrete, but below, as above, there’s only pigs with wings squealing incessantly to raise your hands up though they’re still shittin’ on your sty, chortling at us foreign bodies stuck ruttin’ on stolen land, buried land, land that rears its ugly head and seeks its revenge in paroxysms of passion, land I always feel swelling below my trampling feet.
Things were beginning to feel indefinite.
“Two please,” I say.
The vendor looks me over and waves his skinny arm towards the colorful ticket display behind the counter, lifting his chin in my direction. The gesture reminds me of my ex—Jairo’s father.
I was walking down 85th and Lex when I saw him. It had been four months since the last correspondence. This was after our direct contact dissipated because of his drinking, which led to the yelling, which led to me wearing longer sleeves and waking up earlier to add more layers of makeup. The marks human eyes couldn’t see took longer to fade.
In the express checkout lane, the cashier asked her if she’d found everything she was looking for. She didn’t know how to answer, so she left the store without buying anything.
My mom wants me to stop touching my face because my hands are dirty, and I’ll break out, but I love touching my face.
Like any young family, some conversations had to be foregone. Some battles, forfeited.
The section for cash held a Trojan condom, but when his wife came to claim the contents of her dead husband’s pants, she said he’d had a vasectomy.
Before you go to school for the first time, you learn how to talk nice.
Dave was a pathological flake, and after three years of dating, I still wasn’t used to his absolute surprise, confusion, and disappointment.
There are two kinds of people in the Persian community: Those that kiss you on the cheek twice, and those that you kiss you on the cheek three times.
