THREE STORIES BY FRANCINE WITTE

You Don’t Want to Know

The Center of the Earth is not as Hot as you might think

I Call My Brother Methlab

I Call My Brother Methlab

because, frankly, I forgot his name. Forgot it when he sold our mother’s liver and our older sister’s teeth. Forgot it when we he wouldn’t say why his daughter disappeared. Forgot it another dozen times. But when he knocks(!) on my front door last week instead of crashing in a window, says straight up he’s going for help, I want to hug him, call him by his given name, only that’s a long-gone bird. Instead, in my head I switch to the other name I call him. Methlab, Rehab. Lucky for me they both rhyme.

The Center of the Earth is not as Hot as you might think

Scientists report that it’s not all bubble and goo, but rather a low steam formed by all the secrets spilling into it. Blame gravity. Blame the pull and spin that soaked up how you told your handsome neighbor you would sleep with him when your husband went to work. How this info drifted downward and started out all romance and promise, all flamed out like your red-pout mouth tilted up to meet his, but that by the time it got there, it was fizzled heat at best.

You don’t want to know

how it was sitting at my desk, the whole globe next to the chalkboard – have a great summer – and in walks 5^th period Greta, baby bump showing now and her pleading, but only with her eyes, not to fail her. There on alternate days, and the principal is attendance crazy, and we tried and we tried, but Greta kept saying how she loved her daddy, and I could only guess by the bruises on her strangly legs if this was a day her father beat her up or a day he forced her into bed.

Francine Witte is the author of four poetry chapbooks and two flash fiction chapbooks. Her full-length poetry collection, Café Crazy, has recently been published by Kelsay Books. She is reviewer, blogger, and photographer. She is a former English teacher. She lives in NYC.