THE IMPULSE TO THROW HIMSELF off the bridge versus the actual act of falling. This mothers’ day, soak strawberries in champagne. Young people these days have got to do better. I’m ashamed. I myself do not smoke the reefer but I know enough to say
WE WENT to the beach, where I gave birth to a white cat. Christmas came early. Blood on Eve. Footprints lead the detectives to the front porch, but disappeared when you retraced your steps. A city built on blood. Did you retrace your steps.
THE SEA WASHED a decapitated foot to the shoal. She wondered. Is that a telephone wire or my hand? The last thing he said was call me. Ok dude. I heard you the first time. We’re doomed, the trees said, waiting obediently.
Vanessa Saunders received her MFA from LSU and is presently teach writing at Loyola University, New Orleans. Her mansuscript, The Flat Woman, was recently longlisted for the Tarpaulin Sky Press Book Award. She have been published in Nat. Brut, Entropy, Poor Claudia, PANK, and other journals.
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