Congratulations to all the women who were published in February – a wonderfully long list!
From Carla Sameth‘s “Making Love to My Toes” at Anti-heroin Chic:
Girl glares sullen for a moment, thinks: this shit job, this hotel, these people make
so much noise about nothin’ and I bet no tip gonna be left
in my room tomorrow.
Also from Carla, “Mourning Morning” at Entropy Magazine:
I remember her breath quickening, holding her breast while she touched herself; I was too selfish to make love to her because I was already off and running, ruminating. As if I was on the ride: Soarin’ over California in Disneyland, California Adventure. I take notes like I’m already remembering the embrace I’ll never feel again when she’s gone. Something will take her away; I’ll think about how far away I floated, as she stroked my body in the morning, just behind me, as she leaned into my labia, my clit (I write these words as if I always had, but they come out awkwardly).
From Ava Homa, “Theatre review: A Gentleman’s Guide to Love and Murder at the Cerritos Center for the Performing Arts,” at Signal Tribune:
It is only in a musical that brings to life caricatures of British snootiness that the horror of several consecutive murders can turn into jolly entertainment.
One of the best examples of this comic portrayal of ignorance, in this reviewer’s opinion, was the lofty lady Hyacinth D’Ysquith, who was desperate to find “a place so low that hope itself has been abandoned.”
From Antonia Crane‘s “Secret Life of a Stripper Who’s Also a Social Worker” at narratively:
It’s slow as shit at Showgirls. Summer in the Coachella Valley is a sadistic blow-dryer you can’t turn off, and business comes to a screeching halt because all my regulars leave for their other houses in colder places or go on fancy European vacations with their wives. I’m “Candy” here but my regulars call me “The Lady in Red.” Riley and I always work on Tuesdays, waiting for the rare drifter to pop in for a happy hour beer and a quick blast of AC so we can talk him into a twofer and pay our bills. Riley’s the best pole dancer here by a long shot — she can do the Running Man while suspended in midair. Right now, she’s a superhero perched to fly, but there’s no one to dangle upside down for, so she leans on her fists with her elbows on the bar and talks, while her long, toned legs drip off the barstool. She tells me about her recent relapse and her anxiety disorder while our buns stick to the vinyl barstools.
From Diane Sherlock‘s “The Inedible Footnote of Child Abuse” at The Manifest-Station:
There was no bodily autonomy in the house I grew up in. No privacy, no warm baths without ice water dumped from above, no agency over my body, and my brothers and I had no say in what we ate. Three seemingly random vegetables were force-fed. Why those three? Why not? They were the favorites of the reigning narcissist of the house. They were our mother’s favorites. Reject them, reject her. The essence of narcissistic abuse.
From “Water Tank” (and other poems) by Sehba Sarwar at Paper Cuts Magazine:
we are fish
swimming
below the surface
in our aquarium
beneath broad
banana leaves
From Janel Pineda‘s “In Another Life” at wildness:
The war never happened but somehow you and I still exist. Like obsidian,
we know only the memory of lava and not the explosion that created
us. Forget the gunned-down church, the burning flesh, the cabbage soup.
From Xochitl-Julisa Bermejo‘s “‘A While’ Means January,‘” at The Acentos Review:
“It’s like you fell from the sky,”
he said mystified, but he didn’t know
I conjured him in a new moon.
Bees buzz in his ears ordering
him to work till callouses grow
into houses for their dreams.
From Soleil Garneau‘s “Shaking the Magic Eight Ball” at catheXis:
i went out lookin’ for something
like i go out every day
i walk
the broken concrete
and think of what else won’t be fixed
Congratulations to Ryane Nicole Granados whose “Kids Gym Provides Inclusion for Children – and Its Owners” was published at L.A. Parent!
Congratulations to Toni Ann Johnson whose story, “The Way We Fell Out of Touch,” was published at Callaloo!
Congratulations to Lituo Huang whose story, “The Climb,” was published at Bosie Magazine!