Displacement Theory

by magnolia wilson

Fingers, blackened by citrus flesh, cradle her skull. Purple curtains breathe like an iron lung ventilating farther from the window screen as the storm draws near. She watches rainwater fill the barren potted plant and I thought, you lend yourself to me the way magnetic attraction is only one sided.

Overflowing at the brim, dirt is freed from its vessel. Thought of my displacement theory, I wasn't full before but I was entirely my own. Something is lost.

Tongue pressed against the nape of her neck feels like weights hanging from organs. The greatest pleasure is never without discomfort.

Fingers, blackened by dried blood, press soft abandon into her skull. Thought of the bear, whose body swallows the baby if not well nourished. What if I’m not strong enough to bare it?

Fingers, blackened by tar stains, turn her skull toward the sky, watch as her problems moltiply, become grounded by the sight of a writhing beetle, the way exoskeleton meets wood planks, maybe I was never meant to be on my back.

Tell Me, You’re Not Dead

by micala smith

She is there and then Goes blue. Completely frozen lady Stills the room, Her head cocked, no breath.

Flipped beneath the skin, Her fingers twitching as frantic legs search, Stuttered shoulder has the metal fix. I help her hold herself There’s not much else.

The gasp comes back blaring, Room turned to fuzz. She searches for her body, Tugging through skin and Velcro, The devil’s rhythm shakes from her soles, Feet switched around.

Says a prayer to stay with herself Scatters the numbers, asks the bathroom Tells herself about god, Those bewildered eyes only Want to know what she’s got. She knows what she wants: “Shampoo, shampoo, three, four, three, jesus love me, sleep.” You can’t hold someone back from dying.