in which reuben selects “yes” to organ donation at the dmv // Gwen Cusing

Beast // Hana Shapiro

I tackle the crazed ire waiting to spit and chew on those who have wronged me, Disallowed from scathing the Skin of my forgiven. It cries, That is all they are. In retaliation it howls at me Mimicking a familiar instinctual Barbaric yawp. I mistake the horrid beast for anger. I pluck its dentured fangs from its Soft mouth and Feed it dark sugar, Close its jaw and massage its Tender throat to shiveringly Sooth its burning need. Lo, Comfort. I see you. I release you from this binding pelt. May you never seek to impose again, Only to be called upon.

release:return // Gwen Cusing

Let this be the winter perfumed by cigarette smoke and sweat. Let it be the winter of hands, the winter of tattooing the characters of your own name across your ribs, reminding you to be present to be past

to never forget this foreign soil staining your fingers, a thin half crescent under your nails. Let this be the winter of saccharine halfpromises, of breaths against pulses. Let it be bruised apple skins, the winter of teeth, of silent snow-soaked Sunday mornings. Let it be the winter of your name across my ribs, throbbing red

hot until the day I press a fingernail to each stroke

and feel nothing.